


Silver for the living

by Carol989



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Beacon Hills is a mess, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Multi, kind of beauty and the beast au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-04-26 13:06:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5005897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carol989/pseuds/Carol989
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is, everybody knew werewolves had been extinct two hundred years ago and still Beacon Hills had a fucking hunter clan. Why? Who the hell knows.<br/>The only thing Stiles wanted was to get away from that hellhole of a city, but no, of course not, he went and found a whole pack trapped into the Preserve. A cursed pack with a weird ass alpha.<br/>It was just his luck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fuck Beacon Hills

It's not that Stiles hated Beacon Hills, it's just that... he wouldn't care if it got erased from history, forever. Like, okay, it wasn't that bad of a place: the crime rates were low, you could walk at night without fear, the school was good and the weather was nice too. But everything else sucked balls. Specially the people, holy shit what was with all the jocks and assholes? Sometimes Stiles wondered if the city had gotten stuck in the eighties.

No. More like the _nineteenth century_.

Beacon Hills was, for sure, one of the only five towns (the top one was in Alabama no doubt) that still had a hunter clan. A Hunter Fucking Clan spread everywhere, exhibiting their silver weapons, shitty opinions and being incredibly influential and important, in twenty fifteen. Stiles really wanted to scream in their faces that werewolves had been extinct two hundred years ago, Jesus Christ find another hobby!

But he was usually very good at hiding his sourness after Jackson pushed him into a locker or one Argent had given a – applauded – conservative speech in a public place. However, there were times when his father picked it up.

“It's only temporary.” Because they needed the money, and Beacon Hills was a good place and things hadn't been easy after his mother died, Stiles knew it all. He understood it all. Yet, he was seventeen okay? He had a free pass to some teen angst here or there.

“Yeah, yeah, I've heard this one.”

His father sighed and threw twenty bucks on the table.

“Scott is coming over, right? Get yourselves some pizza for me.”

Stiles smiled despite the familiar spider of guilt crawling up his throat. “Thanks dad. Sorry for... you know.”

“I get you, kiddo.” The Sheriff patted his shoulder. “Well, you know the drill, don't throw a party, don't get drunk and don't get arrested again, please.”

“The instructions aren't clear enough, may get caught robbing the nearest bank.”

“I'm serious.”

“I thought you were dad.”

“That's it, I'm going.”

Stiles laughed and turned back to his Halo, he felt more than saw his dad appearing of the door frame again to say before leaving: “Remember, there is always college.”

He wondered when the Sheriff would confess that they didn't have enough money for one that was not Beacon Hills Community College. That was the thing about a 'free' country, the hospital bills weren't free.

When Scott finally arrived with his usual beaming face, Stiles decided that he had had enough drama for the night. Hell, for the month even. Scott was one of the only good things in Beacon Hills, and fuck if he was going to let anything ruin their epic friendship. He jumped to his feet, putting an arm around his shoulders.

“Dude, what do you say about more donuts than we can eat, far, far away from this side of the town?” He raised the twenty dollars. “And, you know, plus some beer.”

Scott wasted no time dragging him towards the door. “You sure know your way through my heart.”

That time, the laugh was sincere.

 

* * *

 

 

Look, Stiles wasn't breaking his promise, he hadn't gotten arrested – yet – and no parties were being thrown. He may be clinging to that can of beer more than necessary, and he may be a little tipsy, but not drunk. Nope. He could still walk a perfect straight line if asked. Probably. A short line.

Yet, his cheeks still kind of hurt from laughing too much, the Jeep's hood was comfortable on his back and his belly was full of cheap, delicious donuts. He was allowed to have a good time now and then, alright?

It was their thing, even before Stiles had the jeep or they discovered how easy it was to illegally buy shitty beer in some parts of the town. They would hide into the outskirts of the preserve, far enough so that no one could see them from the streets, but not too deep to get lost. The things they had talked about there... Stiles' mom, Scott's dad, girls, boys, plans for the future... Every single fucking thing. The Preserve was a sanctuary.

Scott's head had rested on his shoulder, the poor man had passed out while ranting about Allison's family — her grandfather had blew three of her dates with him in only a month. Apparently, Scott, with his dimples, asthma and chronic sweetness somehow represented a menace to the Argent household. Truly, Allison was an amazing girl, Stiles felt sorry that she had to be born with the most paranoiac relatives of America.

Up above the sky's edges faded into a light blue, soon the sun would be rising and the Sheriff would get home, tired but still able to check up on his sleeping son. Stretching, Stiles pushed Scott away receiving a grunt in return. “Wake up, sleeping beauty. You gotta drive me home.”

“No...” he moaned covering his face.

“Seriously, Scott, get your ass down. We still need to throw the cans away.”

“Just... do you magic thing, man” he grumbled.

“That would be cheating.” Stiles gave a fake pout.

With a sleepy laugh, Scott rolled from the Jeep's hood and half-limped into the driver's seat. He couldn't be arrested for driving with bed hair. Thanks to a bit of clumsy magic, it never took long for Stiles to hide all the evidences of his terrible teenager crimes, the police would never find that cans. He was an evil master-mind of recycling.

He was giggling to himself, eyelids heavy and in the most comfortable position someone could have against a moving car door, dozing in and out. Scott could probably manage to carry him to the couch. Yeah... Sleep sounded amazing... “Stiles, Stiles, wake up!” All the amazing-ness was shaken away from his body, literally.

“What the fuck, dude? Sto-” He slapped Scott's hands away, because, seriously, not cool.

“Look!” Following his finger, Stiles finally saw.

He had imagined that scene a million times, they came a lot on nightmares: His house with two unknown police cars parked outside, the officers standing around waiting for him to pick up the door so they could give a sad look and announce that his father... Stiles took a deep breath and jumped out of the Jeep. No, that wasn't it. His dad had just came back earlier and had mobilized an entire group search when he found out that his son wasn't home. That's totally something he would do, freak out since Stiles' phone had also died two hours ago. The Sheriff would scream at him, ground him and then they would hug each other.

However, no deputy looked at him with an irritated expression, or called the central when saw him approaching. Parrish walked in his direction with an alien seriousness in his face.

“What's with the convention?” The joke sounded weak even to Stiles' ears.

“Stiles, you should take a sit.”

They said that in his nightmares sometimes.

“What happened?” His mouth felt dry.

“That's not really the best place to-”

“Where is my dad?”

Stiles couldn't see anything besides Parrish, couldn't hear nothing more than his voice. He knew that the other officers were there, and that Scott must be standing at his side, but that didn't matter. The whole world could explode and he would stay there until the answer came.

“I guess that will make more sense with the... whole story.” Parrish furrowed his eyebrows. “Earlier last night we received a call about peace disturbance, the Argent family was having a violent discussion that attracted some attention. Your dad said he would deal with it, one of the young Argents had gone rogue, after allegedly seeing a wolf and ran into the preserve, armed to the teeth.” It was illegal to carry weapons into the preserve, it was part of the treaty, his dad would, of course his dad would... “You father decided to go after him himself, that was five hours ago. His radio isn't working, neither his phone and the search parties still haven't found a signal of him. We can only give him as missing after forty eight hours but... you deserve to know, Stiles. I'm sorry. We are doing our best.”

Somewhere far away, Scott touched his shoulder and Parrish kept talking. But it could not be there, it couldn't be in his life. He thought, for a second, about how his nightmares were getting more creative, kudos for them. Now he just needed to wait to wake up on his bed, on the dark, drenched in sweat and relief.

Just one more minute.

Almost there...

 

* * *

 

 

“What the hell do you mean?”

Officer Becket massaged his temples and tried to explain once more before getting interrupted by Chris fucking Argent: “Witches can only get hired for missing persons, the Sheriff is not missing yet. We can only wait.”

Stiles wanted to punch something, and if he kept talking his teeth would be the main target. He would end up with a black-eye himself and a night at the police station, but shit if wouldn't be worth it.

He had let the police do their thing, he had sat at home and counted the seconds. If it wasn't for Scott and Allison he wouldn't even had eaten, being too busy jumping each time the phone ringed or someone knocked at his door. But he wasn't a patient person and not even his best friend could stop him from stomping into the police station demanding some answers.

“I've waited. I've been waiting for the past nineteen hours!” He passed him fingers through his messy hair. “Even Joshua turned up but no sign of my father!”

“Stiles, Joshua Argent was questioned already, he didn't meet or saw a signal of the Sheriff in the Preserve. It is a big forest after all.” Said Officer Becket.

Scott grabbed his arm gently. At the corner of the room, Allison went to her father, hopefully trying to get him out of there before he opened his mouth again. Good decision.

“So, let me get this straight: You guys let the fucking Argents help with a police search, then Joshua get away with a slap on his wrist after breaking the treaty and getting my dad lost but it's totally unacceptable to hire a town witch to help cuz it's 'too soon'.” The words hardly came through Stiles' clenched teeth.

All the adults in the room looked at him exasperatedly, in that way that speaks volumes about how much they valued his opinion. Unfortunately, that wasn't restricted to just Beacon Hills.

“Joshua paid a fine.” Becket explained.

A hundred dollars fine, Stiles wanted to scream, he is filthy rich! Instead, his mind went blank with only an idea floating in the surface. It seemed reasonable enough for him, he was wasting his time with the cops anyway. Stiles stared at the small group of Argents on the other side of the room, looking like expensive rednecks with their weapons strapped on their backs, and said:

“Tell Joshua he can stick the fine up his ass.”

“Stiles!” warned Becket.

He wasn't sure if he was going to regret it later. You don't just insult an Argent, specially if they are the more... militia-y branch of the family, and get away with it. They wouldn't hunt him down or some shit, but they owned, after all, a quarter of the town and Beacon Hills loved to lick their boots. However, later didn't matter at all if he couldn't find his father. Stiles almost ran out of the station and into his Jeep, with Scott trying to catch up.

“Where are you going?” his friend asked as he turned the ignition on.

“Find dad.”

“It's midnight!” exclaimed Scott as if Stiles had gone mad.

“The Preserve is not safe, and- and we don't know shit about tracking or surviving and...”

“Yeah, and he is out there!” he interrupted. “He is alone, and lost and could be hurt or maybe... maybe he... Shit!” Stiles' eyes burned, but he hadn't cried yet, and wouldn't start now. He needed to feel strong, even if he never felt weaker. “I can't sit and wait, Scott. I can't not do anything again. If something happens I don't know if I... I...”

Scott jumped into the passengers' seat, a determined look on his face.

“Well, we can't go unarmed.” Stiles felt a small smiled form on his lips as his friend stretched to pick something up from the backseat. Scott looked up holding a baseball bat and a lacrosse stick proudly. “And the treaty doesn’t say anything about sports gear.”


	2. Fuck his life

Even though they had been there a day ago, the Preserve felt like unknown territory. Maybe because it was. Children may go to play there, teenagers may go to skip class and adults went for walk from time to time, however they all stayed on it's fringes. People, in general, didn't ventured further into the real forest, where the trees get thick and dark, when there is no more path and strange sounds come from every side.

Unless, of course, you are a stupid ass crazy Argent or a Sheriff trying to stop him from hurting someone or something. Or two dumb teenagers trying to find the said Sheriff.

“This place is creepy as hell.” commented Scott scaring an owl away with his flashlight.

Stiles had to agree, everything about that place screamed “MURDER SCENARIO”. But he still hadn't found a single clue about his father whereabouts and wasn't planning on leaving with empty hands.

They must have been walking for over an hour now, the only light coming from the full moon and their lanterns yet their eyes still hadn't gotten used to the pitch black darkness. Yeah, okay, they had ran into the woods unprepared and fully aware they could get lost, still Stiles wasn't a complete moron. He had his iphone's compass app ready, and knew the road where they had parked his Jeep was to the West. So who needs to be a boy scout when you have technology?

“What was that?” asked Scott nervous.

Stiles turned around to see him shining his flashlight into some bushes.

“What was what?” He tried to suppress his shiver. The situation was starting to look too much like one of his horror movies and Stiles didn't feel any eager to meet a chainsaw maniac. Or a vengeful ghosts. He really hated ghosts, man.

“I thought I saw something over there.”

“It's a forest, man, we are bound to see some bambis around.” Stiles forced a chuckle.

“No, dude, it looked big. Like, really big.”

Scott walked towards him, grabbing his arm and quicked the pace.

“Forget it, let's just rush, alright? Don't wanna stay here for long.”

Stiles was about to say some stupid shit – that was his brain response to tense situations okay, sue him - when he heard something. It wasn't one of the various sounds that mingled with the dead leaves crunching beneath his feet, wasn't just another screaming bat or buzzing insect, it was the distinct noise of a tree being clawed deeply. Very, very near them.

They stopped in their tracks, not daring to move a muscle.

“Stiles, did you hear it?” Scott murmured.

He nodded, grip tightening on the baseball bat. They waited for some seconds, listening. It came again, the creak of a big chunk of bark being easily ripped off a tree. It took all of Stiles balls and a bit more to puff his chest and ask:

“Is someone there?” Which, he noticed a second later, had been an imbecile decision, since, _hello_ , that's exactly what a movie character would say before dying!

Stiles was about to get the fuck out of there with Scott when a growl came from the darkness behind them. A motherfucking deep, bone rattling, growl accompanied by – nearing – muffled footsteps. Bambis definitely didn't make that sound.

A twig snapped too close of him. Then, hell broke loose.

Before he noticed, they were running. Stiles fucking flew away from whatever was lurking there. The Coach would be impressed by how fast he was going, stumbling around trying to not hit a tree. The thing was snarling somewhere, he could hear it, it's heavy steps running after them, him. With his brain on automatic, his feet managed to avoid most of the roots and fallen branches, but not even survival instincst made him foolproof. He fell three times. On the second, he lost the lantern. On the third, he got up to his feet only to roll down a mound.

Small rocks, rough leaves, little whatever-that-was... you name it, Stiles hit every single thing on his way down until he finally stopped, hitting the ground with such force his breath was taken away. Fuck whoever said dirt was soft.

“Shit...” he wheezed. Even with the adrenaline he could feel all his body aching. If tomorrow ever came, it was going to hurt like a bitch.

Stiles really hated his life in that moment, but he hated Beacon Hills more. He bet his ass that kind of thing didn't happen in Massachusetts.

After regaining his breath and making sure his bones were still usable he noticed the complete, utter silence. Not a single owl howled, and he could swear the wind had died, as if the air itself had gasped. Also, Scott wasn't there. Stiles was sure they had ran together. Maybe he had avoided the mound of pain. Well, he must still be around. Yeah.

“Scott?” tried Stiles. “Dude?”

Okay, maybe a bit far away.

Stiles salvaged his – miraculously – almost unbroken phone and baseball bat from the ground, getting up.

“Scott, you there?”

Silence.

Okay. They had lost each other. No panic. That was totally not like a death omen. Nope.

Scott and he had discussed that possibility in the way to the Preserve, in the worst case scenario they were to meet by the Jeep. Alright, in the _worst_ worst case scenario they would meet in the afterlife, but Stiles was an optimistic. With trembling hands he unlocked his iphone and touched the compass app, under the cracked screen the thing went mad. He stared at the letters spinning like crazy, the north was on the right, then on the left, then on the middle and kept going.

“You gotta be kidding me.” Stiles muttered under his breath tapping the phone, hoping it would work. “Oh, c'mon! Please, please...!” Then the app decided to end it's miserable existence and crashed. Awesome.

His mind was racing on every direction, trying to find a solution that would get him away from the Preserve alive and, preferably, with all his limbs. If he and his dad had had enough money for that summer magic course Stiles would do some cool spell and get himself out of that mess. Anyway, shouldn't witches have some kind of inner compass? Something about being in sync with nature and it's energy or whatever? Yeah, Stiles definitely didn't have any of that.

Basic tricks are always free on the internet though, so he made a small ball of light on his left hand and started walking away from where he had come. The creature could still be there. Please let it be there and not after Scott, he wished. Please let Scott be safe outside those cursed woods.

The quietude was more unnerving than the forest's natural sounds, and he couldn't help the feeling he was walking into something dangerous. He just hoped that meant finding his father.

A soft noise came from behind and Stiles moved so fast he almost gave himself whiplash.

“Scott, is that you? Dad?” With his heart drumming on his ears, he noticed it was neither.

The scene before him made the air heavy with dread.

On the faint light, a dark form was visible a few feet away. He could see the contours of a long snout, fur, paws and glowing, yellow eyes locked on him. His consciousness blared: WOLF, THAT'S A FUCKING WOLF, THERE IS A WOLF IN CALIFORNIA, GET OUT, GET OUT! But, let's be reasonable, that was probably a coyote or an unholy huge stray dog.

Even though dogs didn't walked like they were about to have a very tasty human-sized meal, and he was kind of sure coyotes were supposed to be a bit – lot – smaller. Yet, if he was going to follow logic, wolves shouldn't have glowing eyes either.

It looked at Stiles' ball of light, studying it and he raised his baseball bat in a poor imitation of a defensive pose. Always seemed better if you were Anakin Skywalker.

“You don't wanna eat me, okay?” He prayed the thing couldn't notice his shuddering. “I'm like, all gangly limbs and bone. I mean, teenagers must taste like shit, right? I'm just sweat, spunk and a lot of fucking terror right now.” It took a step closer. Stiles gulped. “I- I heard a violent death makes the meat stiff.”

The wolf-thing started to cycle him and Stiles had seen enough Animal Planet to know he was dead, alright. Done. Sorry for the shitty rescue mission, dad. It seems there won't be college anymore.

The creature walked until it was at arm's reach, and it was by pure idiotic impulse that Stiles did the first thing that came into his head. In one second, he let the light die, being engulfed by darkness, and swung his bat hitting the dense mass of fur in front of him. He didn't stay to hear it's whimper, because if he wasn't going to get killed before, he would now, so on the next second he was running.

Stiles' legs hurt from the fall, but he heard the wolf-thing's monstrous bark and tried to run faster, which was not just impossible, but very painful. His chest started to burn but the trees were getting sparse, he should be getting closer to the road. And the creature was getting closer to him.

However, Stiles was a very lucky guy, so he didn't find the orange light of the streetlamps. Of course not. His panic rushed brain processed the image of a glade illuminated by the fat moon, in the middle of it stood an intimidating massive mansion. And when you are about to get devoured, you don't wonder why and how there is a mini-castle in the middle of the Preserve, no, you fucking run into it. You stumble on the front steps and slam the door behind you, refusing to think if the old wood will be able to hold up against a hundred pounds of fury.

In the dark, Stiles gulped down the air, steadying his breath enough to make sure he wouldn’t have a panic attack there because wouldn't that just be the cherry on top. He never imagined his body would be able to shake so hard, he wondered if it was the adrenaline's fault or just the bone chilling fear.

When he was able to hear above his heartbeat, Stiles tried to make another ball of light, it flickered and died.

“No, no...” He hugged himself with one hand, pressing on the stabbing pain on his side. So much for being athletic.

He tried again, and that time it light up. It was weaker, but steady enough to let him see his surroundings. It... shit, it was beautiful even in the dark. Under all the dust and spider webs Stiles could see the ornamented walls of a large entrance hall, the ripped wallpaper and the once beautiful wooden floor looked expensive. Whoever lived there had to be more or as rich as the Argents.

And just as crazy, because, really, mansion on the woods?

No sound came from the other side of the door, hopefully the creature had gone away so he crawled forward until his light hit something else. No, _s_ _omeone_. Laying further on the floor, on what seemed to be a pile of frayed blankets was a passed out man. No matter how shitty the illumination, he recognized those worry lines, that face...

“Dad?” Stiles gasped.

Careful to not put the light out he scrambled forward until he could touch the Sheriff. There were a few cuts on his cheeks, nothing big, and his uniform was filthy, but what came to his attention was the blood stain on the covers below his head. Stiles tried to raised it enough to inspect the injury beneath, still it was too dark.

“No, no, don't do this to me now.” He put his fingers on his neck and sighed in relief when he found a steady pulse. In the faint light, his dad's chest moved up and down, looking weirdly in peace. Stiles could feel the tears forming, it was okay, he was alive.“Thank God.”

Except that his day was a never ending nightmare, so he barely got surprised when a pair of glowing eyes appeared on the far end of the long corridor. And another one, and another. He heard a snort and turned around to see two huge wolves coming from the passageway on the left, standing between him and his baseball bat.

The only coherent thought that occurred him is that Joshua Argent was right, there were wolves on the Preserve. There was no way in hell he would admit it out loud. Fuck his life, really.

The wolves stood there, staring, on hold. Then, the three at the end of the corridor stepped aside, looking up, and Stiles saw too. A shadow walked on his direction, the bulking figure way bigger than any wolf and, for sure, person too. As it came near the light, Stiles saw it had long, strong canine legs, leading to a very human torso. He couldn't see the beast's face clearly, but there were two scorching red eyes pinning him down.

Stiles' heart skipped a beat, he tried to reach for any thread of hope that could be left. However, he knew the stories, shit, he researched, okay? He read stuff, he had to spend way too much time along Argents to not know what that was. And, if he was right, then... well, shit.

“...werewolf.” He gasped. “You are a werewolf. Aren't you?” It stopped walking.“Okay, crap. You... how the fuck do you exist? Oh God, what's happening?”

The – man? Beast? - creature seemed fixated on his pathetic ball of light, as if it had never seen something of the type. Stiles took the opportunity and extended his hand.

“Yeah, that's it. I'm a witch, so don't try anything funny or I'll zap you!” One of the wolves puffed and sat down. “All of you!”

“How did you get in here?” The werewolf's husky voice filled the dark. He didn't sound very happy, or impressed. Stiles had that effect in people... and also extinct beings, by the looks of it.

“I'm... No, screw this, what are _you_ doing with my dad?” He curled around the Sheriff protectively.

The werewolf lurked closer, yet keeping a certain distance as if he didn't want to get too near Stiles. In that movement, the light finally hit his face. Stiles breath hitched at what he saw: it was neither human nor wolf, his nose was scrunched up in a permanent snarl, fur – or beard? - covered his jaw, there were no eyebrows and sharp fangs were noticeable when he opened his mouth.

Stiles' fear most have been clear, since the werewolf took a step back. A wolf nudged his hand and whined, making he ponder before answering:

“Cora brought him in yesterday, she found him passed out on the woods.” The words came with difficulty, as if he hadn't spoke in a long time. Which, considering the house and his... company, was probably the case.

“You... took care of him?” Stiles hesitated. “Uh... Thanks, I guess?”

They spent a moment in silence, looking at each other. It couldn't be just terrifying and impossible, no, in his life everything had to be awkward too.

“Well, you are a great host, nice house and everything, but I'll go now.” He had no idea how he would carry his father to the main road, but he wasn't going to stay there. Stiles put one of his arms around his neck and prepared to get up. “Hm, yeah, bye!”

The werewolf growled and leapt in front of him, his solid form blocking the doorway with the other two wolves. That angry scowl was a big no-no.

“ _You stay_ ” He roared.

Truth be told, Stiles was just a step away from shitting himself. But he hadn't gotten through miles of hell to find his dad just to let him die of a head injury in that god forsaken mansion.

“I need to get my father to a hospital.” Stiles snarled back. “I don't know what happened to him but he is hurt and it's not going to last here.”

The werewolf seemed to falter, but didn't changed his stance. That close, his sharp claws were visible and Stiles' felt his stomach drop a little.

“Please.” He wasn't above pleading. “I can't let him die, please just... Look, I'll stay, alright? If you let him go, I'll stay.”

All the wolves looked at the werewolf – must be the alpha – waiting for his reaction. He didn't relax a bit, but his red eyes scanned the Sheriff and Stiles intently, something passed there. Some expression that flickered so fast that Stiles didn't caught up.

“I can't run away from all of you, okay? It's a promise, my dad for me.” He hoped he sounded braver than he felt.

After an excruciatingly long minute, the alpha finally ordered:

“Erica, Boyd, take the man to the border and _don't be seen_.” Two wolves stepped forward and, with a weird delicacy, removed Stiles insistent hand from his father. He watched with a tightening heart as they bit the covers and dragged him away, down the corridor and into the dark. And hopefully, he prayed, into safety.

I'm so sorry dad, he thought.

“And you,” said the werewolf. “you don't get out of the mansion.” Then stomped away into the other corridor, the rest of the wolves following him.

His absence lifted a heavy cloud of dread that had been circling Stiles since the first moment. All at once, he felt his air leave him as he slumped against the hard wall. He let the weak ball of light die and hugged his scrapped knees. His body felt numb, so did his head as the two days without sleep finally caught up. That night, Stiles doze off with a heavy heart and wet cheeks.

 


	3. Fuck that werewolf

Stiles woke up covered in dust with a roaring stomach. At first, he didn't get why he was laying on the floor or why his house had gone through puberty, then it hit him all at once. The memories all seemed from a distant dream: his dad missing, running on the Preserve, the wolves... The _werewolf_.

Still, there was nothing more realistic than the sun rays that entered tainted windows, illuminating the abandoned mansion. Tiny speckles floated around, shining, and for a second the place was eerily beautiful. It was a very short second since getting kidnapped can really affect your aesthetic priorities.

With sore muscles, Stiles walked down the corridor, looking around the place. Someday, it had been grand, he could easily imagine a bunch of rich people in gowns, eating and laughing all around. If he had saw the mansion before everything, he would've thought it was haunted. Who would've guessed it was actually a fucking den.

Speaking of which... He saw no sign of the wolves except for the footprints on the filthy floor. Not even a single sound of claws rasping the wood.

Stiles felt alone, maybe he was.

He licked his lips, maybe he was! Turning his head, Stiles could see the big door he had stormed through a few hours ago. Looked so bright over there, inviting, just some steps and he would be able to touch it.

 _You don't get out of the mansion_ , the werewolf's words echoed. And, sincerely, very impressive words. Very threatening, 10/10 would listen.

Yet, he was so close. Stiles could open the door and make a run for it, see if his compass would work again and bolt away from that cursed Preserve. Find his dad, find Scott, make sure they turned out alright. Just some more steps and...

A bark.

“Holycrap!”

His bones almost jumped away from his body, just like his heart – that Stiles was sure would fail until the end of the week if things kept up that path. Behind him, where before was an empty spot, sat smug wolf. He could tell the little shit felt smug, it was all in the looks.

“Oh my god, dude. Can you please make some noise while walking?” It's yellow eyes narrowed, looking at the door and back at Stiles. He tried to play it cool.“What? I wasn't going anywhere.”

Now that it was bright, he could see the animal perfectly. It was still huge, okay, he had no idea how big a normal wolf was but it certainly wasn't like _that_. It's fur was clear, the color of wheat and the eyes were still in that glowing golden color. He was no expert but that was probably a magic wolf.

“I'm feeling really dumb right now, but... Do you understand anything I'm saying or?”

The wolf nodded.

Yep, totally magicked animal.

“Well, that's a bit awkward.” But one way or another, Stiles was all about one sided conversations, wolf or human. “So, are you a lady wolf or a dude wolf?” It stared at him as if he was an idiot, which was comprehensive. “My bad. Are you a boy?”

She shook her massive head proudly.

“Oh, cool. That's useless but, whatever, already talking to a wolf here so... My name is Stiles.” She snorted and a moment of silence stretched – one sided presentations were a bit more embarrassing. Specially when you are starving and being held captive. “Not being sexist or anything, but I'm really hungry right now. Like, starving.”

She gave him an unimpressed stare and walked away. Feeling just like that one friend in a party full of unknown people, Stiles followed her through the rest of the corridor, they passed a room with a fireplace and a couple of chairs and entered what, someday, was probably a kitchen. A fricking royal kitchen by the size of it – there was even one of those stone ovens people put pizzas!

A pizza would be really nice, Stiles mouth watered. The wolf guided him to the table where... ah.

“I think there was a communication error along the way.”

Because there sat a piece of raw, bleeding meat on what should have been a plate. There were still pieces of fur on it, which, ew. The wolf didn't move.

“Like, don't you have a more... human food? Not expecting Doritos or some fries, but, you know, fruits, I'll even eat seeds. Yeah, those would be great! I bet you know some sick trees, living in a forest and all.” She lowered her head. “Let's lower the standards a little, roots then?”

“That's your food.” Stiles totally did not yelp, he did not, alright, that was just a general male sound of surprise. His hands were suddenly sweaty and he dried them on his jeans while turned to look at the figure on the corner of the kitchen.

“What's up with you wolves scaring the shit out of me? Warn a guy.”

Just as the yellow wolf, the werewolf was way more scarier completely visible. He should be a head taller than Stiles, and neither his grump face nor his ragged clothes did miracles for a second impression of the guy. Actually, he looked so frustrated that maybe Stiles could annoy him enough to get freed, or killed. Well. Annoying him was unavoidable, anyway.

“You probably noticed I'm not all furry like you guys. I don't wanna get some disease, that's gross. Salmonella, parasites, I can keep going...” Stiles scrunched up his face.

The werewolf crossed his arms, which were, okay, pretty... er... bulgy. Not that Stiles was noticing or anything, it was just very, uh, noticeable.

“You won't, if you cook it.”

Fine, that guy was clinically insane. That, or the effects of too much time in social seclusion were showing. That kitchen could be out of a The Sims 4 house, but was wrecked – like the rest of the mansion. Stiles wasn't even sure he could sit on the counter without it falling apart under him. And the stove was downright sad. He could picture it saying 'please, kill me'.

“Uh... and how will I do that?”

The yellow wolf and her alpha – he knew shit ok – exchanged a look Stiles was very used too, it meant that conversation was trotting down the excruciating path and soon would arrive death glare city. After a long sigh, the werewolf looked back at him:

“The same way you did that ball of light.”

Oh? Oh....

“Oh!” A second of silence. “Yeah, sure, I can... Hm... Do that. Of course.”

He received the universal face of 'go ahead them' and stared at that fucking piece of meat. To be honest, Stiles had no problem with disgusting stuff, most of the time. He loved some weird shit and wasn't ashamed of it! But that beef was downright nasty.

Grimacing, Stiles tentatively touched it. Oh, God, it was worse than he expected. It was still _warm_. He felt the others' expectation burning his nape, so he tried to recompose himself. The fuck was wrong with him? Stiles Stilinski was not squeamish, no sir. He loved meat in all it's forms and his actions were being disgraceful!

Straightening his back, Stiles grabbed that beef with gusto and focused. It should be easy, right? He knew how to do some cool stuff already, he could create light, levitate some things, do some basic spells, even make balls of water! He felt his spark answering in the middle of his chest, and the tingling sensation of the magic spreading through his veins. Stiles closed his eyes and directed it to his fingertips, feeling it accumulate and escape, flow. Shit it was actually working! Fuck yeah!

His smug grin was instantly washed off his face when he opened his eyes and saw the meat half frozen. The wolf snickered.

The judging atmosphere was getting really strong around him.

“I... don't think I can cook it.” He admitted, blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Aren't you a _witch_?” The werewolf snarled the word.

“Yeah, I am.” Stiles answered defensively. “I just can't do it, okay?”

The werewolf walked into his space, furious and that should've been horrifying but Stiles could feel his own blood boiling too. Glowing red eyes or not, he stared right fucking back.

“What kind of witch can't even make a simple heat spell?”

“The me kind, asshole. You gotta a problem with that?”

“What did you just call me?” He was seething, voice so low that would've made a smarter man back off.

“I think,” Stiles poked his chest. “I have the right to call the guy who fucking kidnapped me and now is insulting my awesome witching skills, an asshole. You asshole.”

For a moment there, he was sure he was done. That sharp, long claws would tear his throat open and that’s it, Stiles Stilinski – dead at seventeen, virgin and not graduated from high school, was an okay son and friend. However, the werewolf roared and literally flipped the fricking table. That thing flew and cracked against the wall, the meat flopping sadly on the floor.

“Unless you start to be useful, you can starve for all I care.” The werewolf announced before stomping away from the kitchen, heavy steps sounding from the staircase.

Stiles was livid and oh, no, that conversation wasn't finished yet.

“Did you seriously just flipped a table? Who the hell does that? Oh, yeah, go to your room like a twelve years old!” His screams were ignored. “What's your fucking problem?” A door slammed upstairs.

He was being held captive by a child! He couldn't believe he was locked into a mansion by a seven feet tall, furry, deadly child! Stiles may also have screamed that by the way the yellow wolf was staring at him.

“What?” He snapped. “Wanna judge my magic too? Be my guest!”

Stiles scrubbed his face, breathing deeply. She had done nothing wrong, for fucks sake she was just an enchanted animal.

“Sorry, didn't mean to...” A loud, grumbling noise came from his stomach, interrupting him. “That's embarrassing.”

The wolf didn't hesitate before trotting out of of a passage opposite the one the werewolf had used. Nice, Stiles had been awake for fifteen minutes and already managed to lose all his new friends. Well, at least he wasn't giving signs of Stockholm Syndrome.

Deciding he wouldn't have food so soon – and his phone was, yay, dead –, Stiles went to explore the mansion. He had not even seen all the first floor yet and the place was a maze; All corridors and doorways and little living rooms connected, his only reference was the big staircase in the middle of it all – which was out of question since Wolfy McGrumpy was still up there.

Then he finally felt it.

That small ping. The lowkey buzzing under his skin, unfamiliar, yet known. He hadn't noticed before, but now... Now he could sense it all over the mansion and around. Stiles had the same feeling at the Beacon Hills' Library and the Police Station. Magic.

“It's drenched...” he murmured for himself.

And it leaked... Stiles followed the flow mindlessly, until the corridor where it all had begun, until he stood on the doorway those wolves had come last night. The one close to the main door. The magic was stronger there, humming.

He saw it then. The big faucet. A monstrous tree stood in the middle of the room, dark, with countless thick branches hugging the walls, the floor, entering the underground and the upper levels. There were no leaves, just magic. And magic, and more magic. Pouring everywhere, flooding the house.

There were three wolves laying down to it's roots who shot up to their feet, ears up, when they saw Stiles. However, he could only look at the tree. His hand reached out, he wanted to touch the bark, feel it closer, he had to...

“Oof!”

Stiles' hit the floor, almost bouncing if it wasn't for the weight of the black wolf atop of him. Which was a lot, really a lot, fuck, fuck, his legs, his ass!

“Get off! Jesus Christ, get off!” he pushed the animal away, that reluctantly went, a heavy look on it's golden eyes.

The other two – a hazelnut and a brown one – were staring at him with full attention. Not a good, happy you are here, kind of. Stiles made a move to get up again, being interrupted by the black wolf's growl.

“Okay, dude, okay! I get it! No touching the magic tree.” By the way the animal calmed down a little, he had hit bullseye.

Or it was because of the yellow wolf appearing out of thin air at his side, yeah, could be it too. But he had no doubts that shady tree wasn't magic, so win-win. For his surprise, his attention was caught by the twig full of little fruits thrown on his thighs.

“But he said I couldn't...” She gave him the animal equivalent of a shrug and, seriously, Stiles felt his heart double the size. “Oh my god, you are the best!”

They weren't the sweetest ones of the forest, neither the juiciest, yet it was food so he didn't hesitated on stuffing his face with them. Which, thinking back, was not the best decision since he didn't knew shit and he wasn't sure about an enchanted wolf's abilities to pick not poisonous fruits. Well, who the fuck cares? Stiles discovered a big picture, and he wouldn't stop until figuring it all out.

“You wouldn't have a working shower around by chance, would you?” Asked, with his eyes glued to the tree.

 


	4. Fuck the mansion

Stiles soon discovered there were five wolves on the mansion. The black, a hazelnut one, a brown, a... dark-ish brown and the yellow one – who kept following him around. Not that he was going to many places, anyway. He kicked himself out of the magic tree's room because that wolf's scowl didn't really seem like the playful kind. Stiles was not fond of feeling like he was going to get torn to pieces at any second.

 However, even that huge ass mansion was not infinite. Soon, he had explored what must have been the whole first floor – his theory of secret doors was still solid, but he would test it later – and no bathroom had been found. He really, really wanted a bath... or real food. His eyes were glued on that mahogany staircase near the kitchen. You know, the one that werewolf had climbed and never came down again. The pissed werewolf. With claws and stuff.

 Stiles should probably ask the yellow wolf if he was allowed to go up, of fucking course she would have an answer. Yet, he was not very fond of rules made by the people keeping him captive, no, scratch that, by the asshole that wanted him to eat raw meat! He climbed carefully, his body still kind of sore and, man, he did not trust those old steps.

 The yellow wolf followed in silence.

 After seeing that tree, Stiles had noticed the tiny roots spread through the house, like veins on the floor and walls. There was no exception, the higher he got more of them appeared on the handrail. Maybe those were the branches, the second floor should be full of that thing. There, there were no grumpy wolves to stop him.

 Well, he hoped.

 Stiles' pace quickened, another terrible decision to join the others he was collecting that week. _That_ asshole appeared out of thin air, blocking his path. How did that fucking bulk of a creature could walk so silently? Stiles was not dumb enough to not notice him moving, he was almost sure. This time, at least, he did not squeaked and had the luck of having a massive wolf behind him to push his body forward. No pride nor bones broken, it was a win!

 “Could you please, please make some sound?” Stiles held tight on the nearest wall, regaining his balance. “Just once! You are not a vampire to be all... stealthy and personal space invading.”

 The werewolf took a little step backwards shamelessly. How incredible, he was showing a shred of decency! Now.

 “What are you doing up here?” He asked, grumpy as ever, thankfully not sounding like he was about to throw tables around soon.

 Stiles bit his tongue before saying anything about temper tantrums and naps, which would contribute to his ever shortening life span.

 “Doing my best?” He tried. The werewolf raised one... oh, wait, no eyebrows. That was still freaking weird. “Actually, I have some questions. A few. And would be cool if you played nice, cuz I'm not going anywhere soon, anyway. You made that pretty clear at least twice. Today.”

 The creature looked him up and down, and then at the yellow wolf who made a keening noise. He seemed to consider something for a second – were they having a telepathic conversation in front of Stiles? That was so rude and cool – before nodding.

 “Don't test me.” He warned.

 Which, Stiles didn't need to be reminded, okay? He was one hundred percent aware he was standing less than four feet away from a killing machine. The claws, fangs, red eyes and the whole aesthetic was enough. But he was trying real hard to gulp down his need to put more space between them, he was not letting the Argents paranoia get into his head and not letting that jackass think he had any power over him. He had, but that was not the case.

 “Okay, first of all... I heard you calling names last night, and, clearly, there are only the wolves here, so, it's their names, right?” The werewolf mumbled an agreement. That was going to be such a rich dialogue. “What's her name?” He pointed at the yellow wolf.

 “She is Erica.”

 "And the really grumpy dark one?”

 “Boyd.”

 Stiles could be imagining things, yet he was sure those names were spoken in softer tones. Even more naturally than any other word. There was no effort in elaborating, in making it sound more... human. They simply came out. That also could be Stockholm Syndrome setting in.

 “There are three more, right? A tall, hazelnut one, another one that gave me a really arrogant look and a small brown.” The werewolf almost snickered at his description, wow. That was the first semi-emotion which wasn't blind rage or exasperation that Stiles drew from him. A hell of a progress.

 “Those are Isaac, Peter and Cora.”

 Isaac, Peter and Cora, Stiles repeated mentally, Erica... Boyd... They all had very human-y names. He wondered if all werewolves called their enchanted pack like that, of if that one in special had been isolated so long he had to resort to some Wilson, the volley ball-shit.

 Welp, if that wasn't depressing as fuck.

 “And you?” The werewolf stayed quiet. “Dude, what's your name? If you are going to keep me locked up, would help to call you something else than 'jackass' in my head.”

 For a moment, he was sure he had gone too far. There would be another fit of anger just to make his day a little shittier, he almost flinched. However the response came croaked out:

 “Derek. It's Derek.” He repeated less uncertain. “What about you?”

 If those weren't mixed signs he was getting all day, Stiles be damned. He shouldn't be getting cozy with his captor, yet... he couldn't help the feeling he wasn't getting held up just because. The wolves, that tree and the very existence of a fucking werewolf that had saved his father – that fact never escaping his mind – was not the scenario of a normal kidnapping. He hated himself a bit for loving mysteries so much.

 “Call me Stiles.” Derek hummed in acknowledgment, looking almost awkward. Stiles couldn't blame him, it's not like they were in position to shake hands. “Alright, next question: What happened to Scott and my dad? You know, Scott is the guy who was in the woods with me. Tall, brown hair, wouldn't hurt a fly... We kind of separate when one of your puppies decided to play 'hunt the teens'.”

 Derek scowled.

 “My _pack_ was keeping the stupid teens away.”

 “Sorry to break it down to you, but they did a terrible job.” Stiles pointed at himself.

 “You weren't supposed to pass the barrier, neither was your dad.”

 Oh, wait.

 “Barrier?”

 The little pieces were getting together in Stiles' brain, his face was probably emitting that 'loading' vibe he always got on Chemistry class. With an imaginary click, it fit together.

 “Fuck, of course there is a barrier!” He gasped. “How did I not think... I mean, duh, it's a huge ass den-mansion in the Preserve. The hunters would come running with spears and torches if they-” Erica growled lowly. “...And you know that all. And think I will tell the Argents.” He rubbed his face. “That's why I can't leave. Right?”

 Derek's posture became rigid, his wolf legs making him way taller than Stiles. What could he possibly say? 'Hey, don't worry, I hate those dickbags too, can I go now?', geez, if they exchanged places he wouldn't trust a word that came out of his mouth.

 He shouldn't trust Derek either... As realization dawned him, his throat felt suddenly dry.

 “Wait, you let my dad go. Didn't you?”

 Derek nodded quickly.

 “I told you he would be free. Erica and Boyd dropped him on the border and waited until he was safe... That friend of yours found him.”

 “Scott?” Stiles sighed in so much relief, he almost sat down. Plus, his legs were starting to ache from standing that long. “Ah, fuck... Thank god.” His dad was probably at the hospital now, Melissa would take care of him, so would Scott. He pushed away all the thoughts that involved his father reacting to the news of his disappearance. Stiles couldn't handle that amount of guilty and happiness at once.

 “Thank Cora later, she was the one that saved him, after all.” Derek failed to hide his sourness. “Or not, since you end up here.”

 “I don't care where I end up if he is alright.”

 The werewolf looked him up and down, Stiles noticed they were having a semi-decent conversation for the first time in their lives. Maybe gaining that guy's trust was going to be easier than planned, but, of course, that thought didn't appeared in time to stop his mouth from freeing the shit stream:

 “So... I saw the tree downstairs.”

 Derek's red eyes narrowed as his shoulders tensed. He threw such a hard look at Erica that she seemed physically struck, bowing her head low.

 “You what?” He snarled. “You let him go near it?” Maybe Stiles shouldn't have said anything. “Where the fuck where you?”

 Erica's ears lay flat on her head and she let out a whimper. Facing her alpha, she looked strangely small.

 “You feed him, too?” Derek exclaimed, the same fury from earlier was back. “Get away from here, Erica. Now! I can't even trust you with babysitting a human.”

 Stiles felt his blood boil, Erica looked utterly humiliated as she backed off. She had helped him all day, Derek had no fucking right to just... just...

 “Hey!” Stiles stepped in front of the wolf. “Cut that crap, dude. She was only being nice since _someone_ decided that starving me was a good idea.”

 “Yeah, I took that decision, I ordered that. Because _I_ am the alpha here.” Derek's voice was barely recognizable from a growl. He wasn't just pissed, wanting to flip tables, that was a werewolf pissed in a specific direction. And Stiles got in the middle. “Those are mybetas, my pack. They will do as I say”

 “I don't give a fuck what they are or aren't.” Lies. “Erica here or not I'll go anywhere I want, so take that babysit bullshit and throw away along with your attitude.” Stiles was going to break the record of quickest death in captivity. He tried to suppress his shaking as he talked, the image of claws cutting his throat open repeating itself on his mind.

 That wasn't going to happen, he calmed himself down, it wasn't...

Until the claws were on his throat for real and Stiles was pinned against the wall. Gripping the solid arms holding him in place, he felt like a very panicky rag doll. He could count the times in his life he felt that scared: his mom dying slowly, receiving the news his dad went missing, and, now, when he got mauled by an alpha.

 He heard that werewolves could smell emotions, fear, like animals. Still, Stiles put his best badass face on.

 “You will go where I say you can go, you do what I tell you to. You live under my roof from now on.” He could feel Derek's breath against his face. “So don't ever get in my pack's way again, witch. And don't you ever again go near the fucking tree unless you want to feel in the flesh what those hunters are so afraid of.”

 “I'm not your slave, asshole.” He squirmed against the grip. “Go fuck yourself!”

 Derek was about to shove him harder against the wall when Stiles decided to gather all that was left of his guts and picked, again, the stupidest decision available: he spit on the werewolf's face. Derek was caught by surprise and end up retreating his hands, the movement made his claws scratch one of Stiles' shoulders deeply. The pain was stabbing, making him scream, somewhere on his right Erica barked, and Derek let him go harshly, stumbling backwards.

 Stiles saw the dark blood dripping from one of the alpha's hands. He tried to touch his injured shoulder and groaned, his own hand coming back wet, red. Erica's sounds roared everywhere, he couldn't focus on Derek's figure, couldn't think, but in that chaotic sea the pain wouldn't drown.

 Tears stung his eyes and his breath quickened. Oh no, fuck, fuck, fuck, he wasn't scared anymore. He was terrified. Panic flooded his mind and he tripped to the staircase, not bothering to look back at Derek. He couldn't stand being there one more minute.

 Stiles own pulse was the only sound on his ears as he jumped down the steps, tripping on the last one. Fuck the rules, fuck be building trust. That was too much for two days, too fucking much. He needed something, anything, food, his medicine, his dad, Scott, Lydia, a bath... Peace, air.

 He needed air and his lungs weren't finding any on that cursed mansion.

 The other wolves were reunited near the staircase, and Stiles pushed past them, half running towards the backdoor. His mind didn't record the fact that the sun was almost all gone behind the horizon, and that he had not gotten into the mansion by that entrance.

 He needed to get out. Out. Out. Just, away. The late evening air was cool on his face, but still not enough. His shoulder was burning up, so were his sore muscles, until he finally tumbled down.

 Stiles knew the procedure for a panic attack, still, it was hard remembering it when he was in the middle of one. He felt like he was crumbling from the inside in the staccato rhythm of his breathing. He knew he wasn't dying, that despite his shoulder nothing else was wrong, however he felt misshapen, blurry. Skin too tight, air too thin.

 One breath in... slowly... Hold... Let go... Let... Fuck, he couldn't do that. He couldn't. Stiles was feeling too much to focus on anything but the pain. He whimpered at another failed try of touching his injury.

 Something, no, a hand touched his leg tentatively, and slowly the pain began to fade. His body wasn't aching, and the scratch had been reduced to a light throbbing. His mind was a little bit clearer, just enough to breath in and out. In and out. Push your belly out and then let the air leave through your mouth. That was it...

 At each cycle, it became a little easier. Breathing... Breathing enough.

 He had no idea how long had passed until his mind felt fully functional again, no trace of the panic besides from the shame of letting it take hold of him so easily. Stiles knew very well whose hand was on his leg, and he took all his time and courage to lift his head and look.

 He wasn't expecting the pure shame and regret that colored Derek's face. He was looking for anger, a snicker, frustration even, not that. Stiles noticed that the hand holding him was full of black veins fading up his arms, he had heard stories about werewolves being able to absorb pain, but had never thought... Derek quickly removed himself, as if burned by Stiles' dirty jeans.

 The pain came back, yet not near as strong. Stiles could bear it and reality at the same time.

 They sat there in an uncomfortable silence while the woods quickly darkened around them, Stiles' back was wet, glued on his shirt giving away a disgusting, sticky feeling. That probably wasn't good. He flinched at the imagine of needing to peal the cloth away from the cuts, how much that shit would hurt. Hah! Well, he could hope that would heal alone. No touching needed.

 Who was he tricking, he was going to get an infection and die in like, three days. That downhill roll surely was long.

 “I have some bandages and medicine at home.” Derek pronounced himself slowly.

 Looking over him, Stiles saw he had not gotten very far from the mansion on his rush. Actually, he was just some thirty feet from it. How embarrassing. His silence made Derek continue:

 “Let me just take a look.” He offered, not a tint of ordering in his tone.

 Stiles was not eager to go back into the mansion after his episode, however even if he succeeded to outrun a werewolf and his pack, he would get lost, with an empty stomach and injuries, he bet would die overnight. Bear attack. Coyote attack. _Karma attack._

 His day had felt like a whole week, he was worn-out and, truly, he didn't want to interact with Derek anymore. For the rest of his life, if given an option. Okay, the werewolf had helped during his panic attack and with his dad, but he had fucked all up first. Anyway, Stiles nodded.

 


	5. Fuck the kitchen

“It's not that bad.” Well, it _feels_ that bad, Stiles wanted to say.

 He didn't, sure that if he opened his mouth some pathetic pained sound would come out. Stiles hadn't said a word since they reentered the mansion, biting his lips hard when the flannel shirt had been slowly pealed from his skin. The werewolf painkiller had stopped working the moment he sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, the wolves surrounding them.

 No fucking way he was going to ask for one more dose. Stiles was still trying to preserve the rest of his dignity. By the looks of the brown wolf – whatshisname? Peter? - he wasn't doing a very good job. The prick snickered each time Stiles flinched while the cut was getting cleaned.

 "It's not very deep, so there is no risk of you turning.” The werewolf's voice sounded far away.

 “Wait, what, turn?” He was about to look back around when pain spiked up in his shoulder. “Shit.”

 “Don't move.” Derek was on his back again, a strong smell of alcohol tickling Stiles' nose. “I don't have disinfectant, we are gonna have to do it the old way.”

 From the corner of his eyes he could see a dusty, half-empty bottle of vodka hanging from his hand.

 “Wow, wow, let's take it easy, okay?” Stiles shuffled to the end of the chair. “No need to get all Bear Grylls here. You said you had medicine, just put anything on it and let's call the night.”

 “You will get an infection without this.” Derek said as a matter of fact. “Unless you want to use magic.” He added tentatively.

 “What's with you and my magic, geez?”

 “That's a 'no' then.” Stiles didn't sulk. “That's going to hurt, I can-”

 “No, fuck off, I can take this.” He really couldn't, and Derek must have been able to smell through his bullshit. “Go on. Pour it up.”

One of Derek's hands grabbed his healthy shoulder, keeping him still as he let the vodka drench the cuts without a single warning. Stiles' nails punctured the sides of the wooden chair, the burning feeling seemed to stretch to all his body. He really wanted to scream, to bite down on something, yet he fought to not squirm away letting, groaning before he could stop himself.

 Derek worked fast after that, drying up the flesh and wrapping a cold gauze on his shoulder, tying up tight. Stiles didn't care what the hell was the cream he had put on that bandage, soon the pain was settling down and the muscles of his shoulder blades were numb.

 He let out a shaky breath and not moved for a few seconds, not wanting to stir anything again so soon. Stiles didn't need to open his eyes to feel the stares of five pair of eyes on him, he had no idea what the wolves were expecting him to do, yet he tried to look back fiercely. Which only worked so well when your eyes were burning and probably very wet.

 Derek stood behind him in a complete silence Stiles felt obligated to break once he was sure his voice wouldn't crack:

 “That's not how I imagined my first body shot.”

 Boyd got up and walked away without sparing a look back, other two – Cora and Isaac, he guessed – followed him close behind. Along with Derek, they disappeared in the dark corridors.. What the fuck, man?

 “C'mon, it was not even a bad joke!” Stiles defended himself. Peter gave him an unimpressed look and closed his eyes. Truly, he had never seen a wolf look like such an asshole before. He reminded him of Jackson. Fuck Jackson.

 Before he could say anything else, or go anywhere, Derek came back carrying something heavy he quickly dropped on Stiles' lap. A thick, brown wool blanket. It smelled like mold, dust and wet dog. How awesome.

 Derek stared a him, obviously trying to figure what to say, but just stated:

 “You are weird.”

 And went upstairs.

 “A fucking werewolf called me weird. All right. That's a whole new level for me.” Stiles commented to Erica, who, being the sweetheart she was, had stayed. He wondered if she would like to go live with him in the city when he escaped. Stiles would even let her sleep in his bed.

 Bed.

 Damn, he missed a mattress, and pillows, and a cover that smelled like softener. He sighed and carefully got up.

 “I think I saw a couch on the other room, let's go.”

 

                                                                            ~~~~

Stiles looked at the wobbly kitchen table warily. Another chunk of bleeding meat sat on a plate, next to a bowl full of berries. The same Erica had given him before.

“Oh, no.” Derek stood behind it, red eyes fixed on him. “Fuck, _no_!”

“I won't... Listen, I just want you to try.”

 “Try? Why the hell do you want me to try? No, really, why?” Stiles stepped closer. “Do you have some kind of magic kink? I know that's a thing, but really dude? Sorry, you are not my type.”

 The place where Derek's right eyebrow was supposed to be twitched and he scowled, a low growl coming from him. Stiles flinched, the memory of the last night clear on his mind, the soreness of his shoulder serving as a reminder. Thankfully the werewolf noticed his fear and backed away.

 “Just. Try. If it doesn't work, you can eat the fruits. But you have to try, no half-assed attempt.”

 The last thing Stiles wanted was to repeat the incident of yesterday. He didn't feel like he could handle another shitstorm. Yet, when Erica bumped on his legs, encouraging him, he didn't object.

 “When it doesn't work...”

 “If.”

 “ _When_ it doesn’t work, are you going to throw a tantrum again?”

 Derek narrowed his eyes, saying between clenched fangs:

 “I didn't throw a tantrum.”

 “Buddy, the table doesn’t agree.”

 “Are you going to make this fucking difficult?” He roared.

 Another wolf entered the kitchen, Boyd, probably attracted by the discussion. He sat on a corner and exchanged a long glance with Derek, who deflated a bit.

 “So... Yes or no?” Stiles risked.

 The werewolf seemed to gulp down his anger before answering:

 “No, I won't get angry with you again. If you try.”

 Stiles resisted the urge to tell him to fuck off and approached the meat. It wasn't less disgusting than the first time. Without the fear and hunger from the last day, he could think more clearly. He remembered the videos he saw about magic and the tips on the cheap books he had, they always contradict each other. He thought about the tricks that had worked before: so Stiles focused on his spark, a bundle of magic between his neck and his heart.

 He felt it throb slightly, and pictured it's energy flowing on his body. Flowing from his body. Going to the tip of his fingers, heating them. Fuck, they were actually warm! It was working! Stiles took a deep breath and touched the meat.

 It happened in a fraction of a second, as most bad things do. As his fingers felt the cold flesh, his body buzzed and he was thrown back at the same time pieces of meat flew to every direction.

 Stiles felt goosebumps all over his body, and after touching his hair he noticed it was similar to a porcupine. Even his ears were ringing, well, at least he wasn't covered in blood like the walls.

 “Woah, wait!” He raised his hands to stop Boyd and Erica to getting any closer. “I'm pretty sure it would be better if you guys didn't touched me for a while. But thanks for the concern.”

 When he got up, he gave the disaster a once over. It... could be worse. Of course, there were pieces of a dead animal scattered around the furniture – one specially glued to the ceiling – and there was a charred spot on the table where the meat were. Stiles felt sorry for it.

 On the other side, Derek stood almost clean despite some stains of blood on his clothes. He really looked like the werewolves the Argents talked about: Pissed, murderous, all sharp claws and fangs that could kill who they wanted in a moment. Stiles suppressed his fear, clinging to the fake hope that Derek wouldn't hurt him.

 “You... actually electrocuted it.” He wasn't pissed, no, he sounded bewildered at most. Nobody could blame Stiles, it's hard to read a eyebrowless face. “Until it exploded.”

 “I may have gotten a bit confused between the elements. I mean, they are both hot.”

 Derek stared at him for so long, Stiles wondered if they would fight again.

 “Look, you asked me to try, the whole kitchen can agree I did it.” He defended himself.

 The werewolf said nothing, he just pushed the bowl with berries towards Stiles. He eyed them carefully, before throwing the ones dirtied by his amazing magical skills away and stuffing his mouth with the rest.

 “How is your shoulder?” If Stiles didn't know better, he would say that Derek sounded sorry. However he knew, and Derek was a prick.

 “Hm... Not bad. It hurts, but not much. Must be because of that thing you put in the bandages”

 “I'm surprised the cream still works.”

 “Wait.” Stiles gulped down a bunch of berries. “You gave me spoiled medicine?”

 Derek shrugged, looking away.

 “Turns out it wasn't spoiled.”

 “Holy shit, you are the worst! Why the hell did you give it to me then? What where you thinking?”

 He snickered, and Stiles could fucking swear there was a small smirk tugging the corner of his lips.

 “Placebo effect.”

 Stiles couldn't believe his ears.

 “What kind of reclusive werewolf knows about this kind of shit? Seriously, what the fuck even are you? What if it had killed me or something?”

 “You seem alive enough to clean this mess.” Derek said while strutting upstairs, his claws clicking on the steps.

 “The _worst!_ ”

 He finished the rest of the fruits and sat down for a few seconds. Stiles never thought he would find berries so damn delicious, were they always that good or was he just forgetting how junkfood tasted like? He would've enjoyed even more if he wasn't sitting in the middle of a wannabe crime scene.

 “You know what?” Stiles said to the two wolves, because loneliness was driving his insane faster than he pictured. “Since he wasn't that much of a jackass, I'm gonna clean it. Not cuz I'm afraid of him or anything, alright? I'm not. And it's pretty clear this place wasn't cleaned in a fuckton of time.”

 Boyd guided him to a little storeroom in the corridor full of old cleaning products, brooms and even a vacuum. Stiles saw that the newest products had spoiled two years ago, and he wondered once again what was happening on that mansion.

 Despite his room saying otherwise, Stiles was quite organized. His mom used to always keep the house neat, even after a full day at work, and since she died he couldn't endure seeing the place turning into a battlefield. It became a habit, cleaning as much as she did. Letting stuff in order for when his dad arrived.

 There, with so much in his mind, Stiles put an extra effort on scrubbing the walls free of the... what was it? Rabbit? Deer? He wasn't sure he wanted to know, anyway. To his disappointment, the magical wolves didn't clean shit. Boyd and Erica just laid there, watching and playing with each other, nothing like Disney movies had promised. After a while Stiles was so focused he didn't remember when Derek came down again and started to help him, reaching the places he couldn't, throwing the more disgusting pieces of meat away.

 When Stiles' stomach started to demand for more fruits again, Derek and Erica left without a word and came back twenty minutes later with another bowl of them. There was no more blood or flesh anywhere, now Stiles was dusting the counter.

 He nipped the fruits as he kept cleaning, noticing for the first time how modern the oven and the fridge looked, there was even a microwave he hadn't seen before. There was no electricity, so of course they didn't work, but Stiles wondered.

 "You don't have to play maid.” Derek commented, looking back he was sitting on the floor, petting Cora's fur absently. Not only that, but Isaac was also there, laying on a puppy pile with Boyd and Erica.

 The scene was so surreal Stiles almost smiled. He imagined an alpha werewolf would look scarily awesome in ragged clothes with a pack of enchanted wolves behind, but Derek looked disgustingly homely in the noon sun, surrounded by those overgrown pups. So fucking ridiculous.

 “I don't wanna think right now.”

 “Oh, so you think.”

 Stiles snorted and resumed his cleaning spree.

 “What don't you want to think about?” It was a personal question, with no threat behind. No heat. Like they were in a normal situation, and not in a magical mansion in the middle of the woods, as if Derek wasn't probably the last werewolf and Stiles wasn't being held captive.

 “My dad. Wonder if he's okay.”

 He briefly heard the patting of paws on the floor before something bumped on his lower leg. It was Cora. She groaned, looking at him with those big glowing eyes.

 “Ah..?”

 “She is saying he is alright.” Derek intervened. “She went to the city to check on him, he's on the hospital but nothing is wrong.”

 Stiles wanted to say: You are shitting me right? She said all that now? She _said_ stuff? You can understand them? However, thinking better of course he fucking could. The fact that the mythological creature could understand the enchanted animals should be the least thing to surprise him on that week.

 To be honest, that should Stiles trust Derek even less. What if she was saying anything? Since only the alpha seemed to “understand” he could easily be saying anything to make him less jumpy. A more obedient prisoner. However, Stiles had to push those doubts aside. He couldn't be the best witch ever, but with his magic he was naturally good at reading people's intentions. Or something like that. And no matter how much of an idiot that made him, Stiles didn't believe Derek would do something like that.

 He knelt before Cora and pet her head, she gave him an annoyed look but allowed.

 “You are also the one that saved him other day, right? Thanks, then.”

 Cora nuzzled his hand and trotted back to Derek. Pain shot up Stiles' shoulder and he sat down, maybe he had overdone a bit. Yet finally looking around and seeing how most of the kitchen actually looked more like a place someone could live and not a haunted mansion, he felt satisfied.

 “Yeah, not that much of a shit hole anymore. I deserve a fucking sundae, or more berries.”

 The werewolf huffed, but an hour later Stiles was laying on the couch munching the fruits.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or the one where Stiles just needed to clean his mind. Amiright people? Hm? Hm?


	6. Fuck?

It was hot, really hot. Like, gluing your back to the wooden floor hot. Also his shoulder hurt, apparently that blue cream was not working so well anymore. What had Derek said? Oh, yeah, placebo effect. The cuts throbbed again, fuck.

 “So much for placebo.” Stiles mumbled for himself, head propped on the windowsill trying to catch even the weakest breeze.

 And to put the cherry on top, Derek had run off to his evil lair since breakfast fiasco. He had done nothing, no explosions that time, nope. Like the first day, absolutely _nothing_ happened. The werewolf had reacted better to pieces of meat splattered across his kitchen. Not that Stiles cared, he didn't, but even the company of a prick was better than monologuing with wolves for the entire day.

 He couldn't even play Disney princess thanks to his fucking shoulder.

 Stiles flapped his shirt collar, trying to air his body. It worked a little, plus it pushed a huff of his smell to his face.

 Holy. Shit.

 He didn't even smell bad, no, that would be a nice way to put it: Stiles _reeked._

 “Ew, okay, that's enough.” He grimaced and pushed himself off the window. The babysitters for the day — Erica, Isaac and Cora — rose alerted and followed him upstairs.

 As usual, before he could even climb the last step one of the doors opened revealing the werewolf. Whatever was in his weird coven, it was obvious he didn't want Stiles to know. “What do you want?” He crossed his arms as his nose twitched. “Wait, what's this smell?”

 “Uh, thanks for the subtlety. It's me, alright? I'm stinking, need a bath asap.”

 “Not going to happen.”

 Stiles groaned and threw his hands in the air. “Dude, you can't be serious. Smells like something died in my shirt, for fucks sake. Don't you have a super nose or something? You really wanna me walking around like this?”

 Derek faltered for a moment and looked at the wolves. Stiles couldn't help but notice he seemed to do it quite a lot, even if they could talk that was strange. He tried to discard it as a habit the guy had picked after living there alone for god knows how long, yet he couldn't let it go completely. The barrier, the mansion, the wolves, the tree, that cleaning products... The pieces were so close to fitting together. However the heat was so distracting he couldn't think coherently.

 “There is a small pond outside, the water is clean.” Derek sighed. “Isaac is going with you.” The yellow wolf whined and nipped the brown one. “...Erica too. Cora will stay _near the house_.” He commanded furrowing his nonexistent eyebrows. “If you try anything...”

 “Your puppies can run really fast and will bite my ass, yeah, yeah, I get it. Chill. Now, where are the goods?”

 The goods turned out to be a pair of old towels, weird homemade soap, new bandages and the freaky blue cream – that Derek handed over with a sour look, as usual. Stiles expected worse, amazing how some stuff seemed to – almost – be in good shape despite the whole haunted mansion aesthetic.

 The pond was on the outskirts of the land, fed by a small river. Stiles knew the mansion's barrier ended a little further, he could feel the magic flowing to an abrupt stop.

 “Turn around.” He told Isaac and Erica while taking his shirt off. The male obeyed promptly, but she laid down and gave him a pleading look. Or was it amused? He wasn't the best wolf reader yet. “Whatever. Not like you'll understand anything anyway.” He said while discarding his pants.

 Resisting the urge to jump into the cold water, Stiles quickly washed his dirty shirt and hung it on a nearby tree. The sun was not very strong that day, but he hoped that disgusting heat would be enough to dry it.

 Then, he let the warmth be sucked away by the pond. The water was just waist deep, but beggars can't be choosers, he told himself. Stiles took his sweet time washing his skin peeling the dirt and sweat, letting his mind wander. Mostly concluding that the werewolf probably bath there too, and, well, the pond was probably shallow for him so it would...

 “Nope. Not going there. No.” Stiles splashed water on his face. “That's too much even for me.” Erica snorted on the shore. “Just because his abs are very, very nice looking doesn’t mean he isn't still...” Well, being honest, as each day passed Derek being a werewolf seemed more normal, so be bit his tongue. He wasn't like the Argents. He wasn't. “...an asshole.”

 Deciding to drive his thoughts far away from that direction, Stiles started to undo his bandages. He flinched, clenching his teeth as the sticky part tore away from the cuts. He couldn't see them, but he felt everything. The heat was making it even more painful. Taking a deep breath, Stiles dived into the pond. Bubbles escaped his mouth as the injure burned, fuck, it felt deeper than it was.

 Just when his fingers started to pucker and he was one hundred percent sure he didn't smell like a corpse anymore, Stiles rose from the water. With the clean bandages and the help of the blue cream the cuts hurt a little less, still more than the last day – which made him sure that the thing was starting to spoil, oh his luck. He put his boxers and the dirty jeans before laying on the leaf covered ground near Erica.

 Thanks to the bath, the heat was bearable again. Stiles basked in the wind for a few seconds, inhaling the perfume of the woods. He had missed being actually _in_ the Preserve, no car, no booze. When his mother was alive they would walk among the trees every weekend. She had been an amazing witch, people liked to tell Stiles. He knew. She had tried to taught him the basics when he was a kid, but he was so light-headed, only caring about running everywhere, catching stuff, falling from shit. Stiles wished he had listened to her. Maybe then he wouldn't be in that mess.

 He opened his eyes when something cold touched his forehead, Isaac's snout. “What is it?”

 The wolf pushed him with his big head and Stiles got up. For a moment his vision went black and he stumbled forward. “Oh, shit...!” Erica was on his side in a second, whining worriedly. “I'm okay, girl. Blood just rushed too fast, human stuff.” She didn't look convinced.

 Letting his shirt behind to finish drying Stiles followed Isaac back into the mansion, as soon as he put a feet through the back door a massive body was in front of him. Thankfully, he was getting used to that shit and saved his dignity by neither jumping or yelping. Just putting his hand above his pounding heart like a shocked old lady.

 “Oh my fucking god, dude! I thought you agreed to stop this shit, seriously. Creepy much?”

 Derek opened his mouth and closed it again, he locked almost clumsy as he backed away, pointedly staring at anything but Stiles. If the tip of those pointed ears seemed to be redder, he was sure it was all his imagination. “I wanted to show you something.” Was all the alpha said before marching towards the stairs. “C'mon.”

 Stiles followed him, deciding to ignore werewolves' bad manners. “You can stay Erica, Isaac.” The wolves halted at Derek's words and Stiles made his best to push the new wave of fear away. They had never been alone since his arrival, and he wasn't eager for it.

 Derek pushed open the door next to the room he was always in, the human tried to control his breathing. What if he had gotten tired of him? Decided it would be easier to just kill him off? Nobody would find his body there, there would be no humans left knowing about the mansion. No one to rattle Derek to the Argents. It was faster, better than keep taking care of him and testing his magic to god knows what.

 Stiles would do the same. That thought echoed in his head as he tried to convince himself that the werewolf was not like that. He was not the monsters the Argents accused him of being, he had helped Stiles' dad, bandaged him up, fed him... _Yeah, after he hurt you and played_ _witch_ _doll with you. You are still his prisoner, nothing else,_ a dark corner of his mind whispered.

 He entered the room, attempting his best to not freak out again. Derek didn't move, letting the door opened and Stiles noticed his posture. His shoulder’s were slouched forward, his face twisted with something akin to sadness. What the fuck was he bummed about? Stiles was the one about to get killed!

 “I'm not going to hurt you.” Damn werewolf powers, the stories hadn't lied about those. “If it makes you uncomfortable, you can go. I know...” Derek seemed to struggle with the words. “You are being held up here. Against you will, I mean. But I'm not... I won't hurt you.” He added in a small voice.

 Stiles was speechless, torn between relief, shame for doubting the guy and that persistent, tiny part of him that still felt like he was walking into a trap. “Alright.” He twisted his hands, finally looking around the room: to his shock, shelves and more shelves of books filled the place, some of them laded with thick layers of dust. He refrained himself from running around, touching everything with a childish glee and decided to play cool.“So, what do you wanna show me?” Nailed it.

 Conducting himself less like a kicked dog Derek roamed the area, absently picking some books here and there. “That's my family's library, kind of. There are all types of books here, and that section near you is all about magic. You can come up here and read whatever you want, but I thought it would help you to learn more about your powers.”

 There went his cool attitude, bullseye into the trashcan.

 “Shut up, for real?! I can pick those up and all?” Stiles felt like Christmas had arrived earlier and only for him. “Dude, this place is a wet dream come true.” He rushed to the shelve Derek had pointed, brushing away the dust to pass his eyes over the titles. Mostly were in English, but the others were in languages Stiles couldn't start to guess, some didn't even had a name on, showing how fricking old that collection must be. He almost giggled.

 Picking up a single book was being the most difficult decision of his life, so Stiles stacked his arms full – ignoring the throb in his shoulder – and fell into an old armchair. It made his back itchy but who fucking cared. He was pretty sure just the collection in his lap were worth more than his life! Also he might have said that out loud, but whatever.

 “Glad you like it.” Derek said amused, bringing Stiles back to the reality.

 “You kidding me? Don't blame me if you wake up one day and those are gone. Have you read it all?”

 “Most of it, specially in the last years.”

 “Bullshit! So you are a cultured werewolf, really?” Stiles snickered. “That's the nightmare of any Argent.” Except Allison, sorry Allison. “Any other surprises? Do you speak Latin or some shit too? Play the piano?” He wriggled in the armchair, the velvet warmed fast.

 “No.” Derek frowned. “I also speak Italian and Spanish.”

 Stiles laughed, an honest to God laugh that made him feel lighter than he had in days. He couldn't believe in his situation.

 "Can't play an instrument if my life depends on it, though. Cora always was the artistic one, she used to be very good with a guitar. Isaac wasn't half bad either.”

 The world stopped to a halt. All of Stiles thoughts crashing on each other, some snapping together on the way. “Wait, what?”

 A shit eating grin tugged on the corner of Derek's lips, same as yesterday. He had that badly covered smug look that maybe, just maybe, Stiles believed that suited him better than the other gloom expressions. “You know, the small brown one. My sister.”

 "Your... sister? Like, werewolf sister? Not an actual enchanted wolf?” Derek nodded. The memory of everything he had done on the last days flooded his mind. “The others aren't wolves either are they?”

 “Peter is even my uncle, actually.” He said as it was the most ordinary information in the world.

 “Oh my God!” Stiles buried his face on his hands, he felt his cheeks burn, sweating starting to form thanks to the warmth of the room and the shame. He didn't usually felt the need to bury himself alive, but that was one of those times.“That's so fucked up. Erica saw me naked, like, she watched me... Holy shit, the things I said in front of them! And you let it happen!”

 A small, bubbling noise drew his attention. “Are you laughing?” He snapped his head up just to see Derek turning around, back shaking.

 “No” The werewolf answered in his usual grumpy voice, however there was an unstable thread in the end followed by the worst fake cough in the world.

 “You are! Stop it, that's not funny!” Derek tilted forward, hiding his face with a book. “Really? Fuck off, dude!”

 Stiles got up to do something, not sure what. He was in one of those make it up as you go modes one gets when is having fun. Fun! In that haunted mansion! He knew he had a broad smile on his face and everything, secretly feeling a bit proud for making the alpha laugh, but then it suddenly became difficult to put a foot after the other.

 The room spun a little and his vision blurred like it did on the pond. He supported himself in one shelf, groaning at the spike of pain that shot up in his shoulder. Stiles didn't see when Derek came to stand by his side, keeping an uncomfortable large distance between them still.

 “Are you alright?” Even his voice sounded faded. The dizziness wasn't going away.

 “Yeah... Just... It's hot in here.”

 “Hot? We are entering October.” Derek said. “Let me...” A clawed hand pressed against Stiles' forehead. “Jesus, you are burning. Sit down, now!”

 Stiles wanted to ask why Derek was sounding so stressed, tell him to take that stick out of his ass. However, the warmth made him feel sluggish, afar from things, so he obeyed. He muttered a question when Derek started to remove his bandages carefully, even sleepy he heard the gasp.

 “Shit, it's infected. That's what I smelled earlier.”

 “Seems like the whiskey didn't work.” Stiles mused. It was getting difficult to focus on so much at once. No, to simply focus.

“That's not funny.” Derek barked. “How did you not see it yesterday? Or today? Fuck, I don't have anything to treat it.” His voice was too loud again, Stiles wanted to be away from it. He felt suddenly tired, he didn't want to discuss again, his shoulder hurt. It was too hot. “Stiles, listen to me, stay awake. Keep your eyes open.” But they were so heavy... “I'll need your help with... Hey. Stiles!”

“Look at you saying my name.” Stiles mumbled, he wondered if Derek would be mad when he woke up. He just really, really needed to rest for a bit, if he rested the pain would go away, and...

the heat... would...

too...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right kids, do go pouring whiskey on your injuries, just cuz it worked with Indiana Jones doesn't mean it'll work with you, ops!


	7. Fuck infections

Someone was talking near him, Stiles knew it was loud, hurried, but he couldn't make a single word. He couldn't see either. Were his eyes closed? Was he even awake?

It happened again, that weird muddled attempt of conscience. That time it was sharper, he could feel magic leaving him and groaned, trying to grasp it back. It was cold without it. Or hot?

So fucking hot.

He tried to wriggle out of his clothes, anything to get comfier, less painful, then he faintly noticed the ground was moving against his back. What was happening? Why couldn't he see what was happening?

“No...” Stiles thought he protested. Another sound, that time it was clear: A wolf howling. It made his bones shiver, or maybe it was the fever. Cuz it was a fever, he was sure.

He tried recollecting what had happened before, however the memories came from all the directions, stumbling on each other, yet none was what he needed. Stiles' mind was crammed with wolves, alphas and haunted mansions. One thing or another popped up from the rest: the barrier, his dad, cleaning products, a library, magic... His magic. His _magic_. And above it all, Derek.

Derek always in his room, rarely leaving the house, always putting the others on watch duty. Who looked to be straining against an invisible force as he grabbed a running Stiles. Derek that never used his human form. Derek that had a body Stiles knew it didn't look right for a werewolf. Who had been reading more in the last years. Whose family were wolves. Whose house was hidden, and enchanted, and had that _tree_...

In his hazed mind, questions from the previous days seemed to be answering themselves quicker than Stiles could follow. If he wasn't so fucked up he could've swear he felt a lamp light up in his head.

Derek wasn't reclusive, he was stuck. He couldn't get out of the mansion, he couldn't turn into wolf or human form. His family was trapped. For years... No, the cleaning products... two years, at least two.

He wasn't just Derek's prisoner, that tests every morning... the books... Stiles was a witch and Derek wanted his help.

He smiled groggy – or tried – he felt awesome and, simultaneously, like he had been stomped by a horse. Stiles was better than Sherlock motherfucking Holmes, solving mysteries while burning to death in god knows where. Also, the big picture made everything look so obvious he felt like a huge idiot for not realizing before he was, you know, dying.

One way or another, Stiles wished he could fist bump himself. He would've if his arms weren't so heavy and that flicker of conscience wasn't going away as sirens closed in the distance.

  
  
  


How cliche was that the first things Stiles noticed were a constant beeping and the strong smell of ether? The second was the taste of socks in his mouth, argh. The third was the absence of magic. Nothing buzzing silently through his veins. It felt almost deafening. Stiles tried to open his eyes only to be blinded by the brightness of that place, his mind empty. Was he dead? If so, it sucked.

“Nurse, I think he moved!” He flinched.

“Too loud...”

There was ruffling and people talking, someone touched him: his pulse, his shoulder, his face, his hand... Stiles let them, using the time to try to adapt his eyes and mind. It was blurred at first, but as the nurse let go of him he saw another figure nearby. He would recognize the brown uniform anywhere.

“Hey, dad.” Stiles croaked, managing a small smile. The grip on his hand tightened. “Everything's funny.”

“Here.” A cup of water was pushed into his mouth, which was a bit offending he could drink alone. Maybe. Drooling was natural. “Must be the painkillers.”

Stiles gulped down the whole thing, glad his throat didn't feel like sandpaper anymore and assessed the room with his recovered vision. As he knew, he was in the hospital, stripped to nothing but that ugly gown that made his ass cold.

“No flowers? Damn.” His dad didn't laugh and Stiles felt his conscience heavy. The dark circles under his eyes were more than obvious. “Sorry... how are you?”

“How am _I_? Stiles, you-” The Sheriff sat down at a loss of words, never letting go of his hand. “You went missing for three days, nobody could find you. They didn't let me look for you, the _Argents_ couldn't find you.” His breath hitched. “Then you turn up almost dead and delirious. I thought that... I couldn't help but imagine... Don't ever, ever do that again.” Even with his eyes red and wet, his used that one tone that didn't allow a single joke.

Stiles felt his own face burn, fingers numbing in the death grip. He sucked down a hiccup and all the things he wanted to say: I can't promise that. You almost died too. You were shot. I had to look for you. I couldn't bear being alone. I'm sorry. I'm not sorry.

“Yeah, alright, dad.” He managed to say. “Don't go missing again, please.”

They spent a few minutes in pure silence, holding each other in a hug so warm that Stiles felt like a kid once more. Unfortunately, reality became more solid by each coherent thought that returned, yet he wasn't high enough to spill the shits that had happened in the Preserve. They brought him a soup, and if he hadn't been eating berries for the past days he would've flipped that shit and asked for a hamburger.

“So, how many years I've been out?” Stiles tried to break the heavy atmosphere.

“A day and a half.”

“Well, that's boring.”

“Kiddo, you came in with the beginning of a sepsis thanks to that cut on your shoulder.” Ah, ops. Stiles hummed absently and gulped down the tasteless soup. Shit, he could feel his dad's eyes piercing his skull. “They said it was made by animal's claws, something big. You know what's weird?”

“Hm?”

“They found you thanks to a coyote's howling. The Argents believe it was a wolf but you know it's bullshit.” He turned the bowl more intently, fuck, the soup was ending. “I'm not going to ask now, but don't believe for a second you are getting out of this one.”

Stiles put the empty thing down and cleaned his lips. “Dunno what you are talking about, but okay.” It was thanks to the soup he had the strength to look his father directly and not look like he was caught while stealing cookies. “For real, I don't remember anything. Plus you are the one that disappeared first. What happened with you?”

“Apparently, Joshua Argent thought got startled when he saw me in the Preserve and mistook me for an animal. Long story short, he shot me, I'm okay it just grazed my head, and then ran away.” The Sheriff sighed.

“That motherf... son of... Stupid asshole!” His dad frowned, but jokes on him, Stiles tried. “He makes that mess, almost kills you and then said he didn't saw a sign of you. Can't he be charged with attempted manslaughter? Tell me the bastard is rotting in jail?”

The Sheriff sighed and pat his arm. “Calm down. Probably nothing will happen to him, but... He _is_ going to face a lot of lawsuits. And the Argents are getting a serious backlash since you went missing too.” Good. “By the way, another curious thing: Did you know they find you the same place they found me?” Not good.

“Wow, that's...” He gave a nervous laugh. “Weird, really, really weird. Like son like father, eh?”

His dad continued to stare at him until he could feel the sweat form at his temples, he had forgotten how nerve wrecking that was. Fuck werewolves, that was the real shit. When the door opened he had to use all his will power to not start crying and profusely thanking Scott. The guy was followed by Allison and Lydia, and they carried a small bouquet and a colorful balloon with 'get better' written.

“Hell yeah, flowers!” At the sound of his voice they ran into him. The next minutes were followed by hugs, Scott apologizing for leaving him behind and various comments about his stupidity and how he 'couldn't spend a single weekend without almost killing himself, really, Stiles?'.

“I love you guys too.” He glowed. “So, what did I miss?”

“Let's see...” Lydia started listing with a pensive face: “Beacon Hills was dominated by Russia and you are our only hope. Plus, you missed at least three scandals, one party and Mr. Harris was fired.”

“Holy sh- crap, he was?!”

“No, sorry, you are still going to see Harris around.” Allison apologized with one of her sweet smiles.

“Wake me up again when that changes.” Stiles joked leaning back and closing his eyes. The painkillers were starting to wear off and his head hurt a bit, yet he felt nothing but soreness in his stiff shoulder. He experimented rolling it, not bad.“Lemme guess, witches fixed me?”

“Oh, yeah, just one though and my mom. They said something about you responding really well to the treatment, so, how are you?” Scott asked.

Stiles shrugged, damn, he missed shrugging. Such a small act, so many emotions expressed. “Do you think it'll leave a cool scar?”

They talked more for a few minutes before the Sheriff spoke up about how Stiles needed to rest, which, due to his increasing headache was _true_ , however he really wanted to keep having actual dialogues again. Talking to wolves was not that fulfilling. Oh no, scratch that, werewolves.

Cursed ones too, just because.

His friends said goodbye, promising to come by tomorrow. Scott, who had bro privileges, hovered a while longer, needing to ask before leaving: “So, dude, what happened there?”

Stiles hesitated for a brief second.“I'm not sure myself.”

If he was being honest, for a couple of hours he didn't trust himself enough about his memories, maybe those painkillers just had a crazy side effect. Yet, it felt so real, in every way, he could still recall the tree's magic flowing into him. When he got up and went to the bathroom, Stiles made sure to push the gown away and turn a little, he pushed the bandages away and saw the four streaks marked into his skin, almost totally healed. He didn't feel like he could forget Derek so soon. Or ever.

During his quiet time between sleeping and visits from a nurse or doctor, Stiles had plenty of time for thinking. And it was without a second thought, despite what had happened and what could happen, that he knew he should go back to the mansion. So he planned what would be his first move on a series of more stupid and risky decisions he was certain would come back to bite him in the ass.

Melissa visited him, accompanied by his dad. She informed him he was recovering very fast – thank you magic! - and would be released when the infection was gone and the cuts closed, which meant two, three day tops. After that, she helped him convince his dad to go home and get some sleep, since he was relieved from duty anyway. The Sheriff begrudgingly agreed, and just like that Stiles was alone again. By that time, he was sure of his next step:

He would need to see Dr. Deaton.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My darlings, thank you so much for the kudos and the comments! I really hope you are enjoying this as much as I am, so and so, happy holidays for all of you, stay safe and don't do anything Stiles would <3


	8. Fuck his life choices

Turns out it took a whole week for Stiles to get released. No matter how much he complained and proved his good health by walking around the room – trying to cover his butt – the doctor and his dad had the intention of boring him to death. According to them, they needed to check for any signs of trauma, dehydration and another possible infection. So he kept his whining at minimum, since he couldn't go around explaining how he survived in the woods.

“ _Oh, don't worry, dad. The magical wolves took care of me!”_ Nope, not happening.

At least Scott, Lydia and Allison visited every day, they didn't bring more presents which sucked, but it lowered Stiles' desire to bang his head against the wall. Jesus Christ not even the mansion was that dull.

The mansion.

He... tried not to think about it. Of course, he failed miserably.

Stiles' mind wandered back to moments that seemed much obvious now that he knew what had been going on. The way the wolves surrounded him, they were curious. The weird, harsh cadence of Derek's voice, he wasn't used to speaking.

Wandered specially to how Derek had called his name before he passed out, how he had made his family take Stiles back again and, worse, attract attention to themselves.

Maybe the werewolf thought nobody would believe a delirious teenager? It was easy to understand why he wouldn't want his death on his conscience. Or maybe, a big, huge maybe, Derek had risked getting discovered to save Stiles' life just because, damn all risks.

Ha! What a joke.

When Stiles finally got discharged he spent the entire day with his dad, getting the greasy hamburger he deserved. Yet, when night fell and the Sheriff went to bed, Stiles ran to his bathroom and yanked his shirt out, between the mirror and his phone's camera he wriggled around until he had a good view of his scars.

It was... He couldn't kid himself, it was pretty obvious. Four lines some shades darker than his own skin and wider than he expected.

To think it had almost killed him. Weird how it didn't make him mad, or afraid. And it should, it really, really should. Welp, Stiles may be a bit fucked up, nothing new.

He looked again next morning.

  


 

“Are they still staring?” Stiles asked, letting his tray fall on the table with a clank.

“Yep.” Lydia's eyes didn't even leave her phone.

Allison offered him a sympathetic smile. “At least they aren't talking anymore.”

Stiles groaned and poked his food. He definitely hadn't missed eating at school. Or going to school. Or anything school related. Maybe lacrosse.

“This shit's been going on since first period.”

“What did you expect? It's a small city, you are a celebrity now.” Lydia pat his hand. “Enjoy your seven days of fame.”

“You should charge for pictures and copyright your name.” Scott nudged him.

“Ha, ha, thanks for the support you all.”

Out of nowhere, a bunch of Stiles' nuggets ripoffs were taken from his plate.

“Are you serious?” It wasn't that shocking to look up and see Jackson Doucheface putting one in his mouth. “Give it back, asshole! It's the only edible thing they serve.”

“Hospital food didn't suit you?” Jackson gave one of his cocky smiles that meant he wouldn't leave so soon. Great. “Tell me, Stilinski, I made a bet with a friend, and he thinks they found you running around naked talking to yourself. But _I_ heard you were crying like a baby, all curled up covered in your own shit.”

“Fuck off, I'm not in the mood for your rich boy games. Why don't you go ask you mommy and daddy for a new toy?'”

Jackson slammed his hand on the table. “Awn, did I hurt your feelings? Just thought they found you the same way as your dad.”

“Dude, seriously, go away.” Scott intervened.

“Shut up, Mccall. People may be too afraid to say this shit, but I know anything that can spit you out is not good enough to take care of Beacon Hills. Why kind of fucking Sheriff gets lost in the woods and faints like a kid?”

Stiles didn't notice when he got to his feet, but soon enough he was grabbing Jackson by his fancy collar, his knuckles white. It was kind of embarrassing how someone as dumb as Jackson could push all his buttons so quickly.

“Listen to me, you pompous shit, you don't even _think_ about talking about my dad again. Got it? He is out there putting himself in the front for useless fucks like you that are more worried about what kind of hair gel you need to buy for the weekend.” He spat.

Stiles was aware of the sudden silence that fell in the dinning hall, he could see himself slipping up, doing something stupid with a hundred eyewitnesses to prove it. But his mind was too busy with greater things to care about that in the moment.

“C'mon, stop it.” Allison asked. “Jackson, apologize and go away.”

“For saying the truth?” The blond arched an eyebrow. “What are you going to do, hm? Everybody knows you can't do magic for shit, Stilinski. But go ahead, try it, show people some lame twinkles, make me laugh a bit.”

Stiles felt himself reaching for his spark, wanting to let it take over and do to Jackson the same thing he did to that piece of meat. And Scott must have seen he was taking too long to speak and touched his shoulder sternly, because if one of them was willing to take the highroad in their relationship it wasn't Stiles.

He pushed Jackson away and before any of them could get heated again, Lydia intervened in her 'I'm better than you and you _will_ do what I am saying' voice:

“Jackson, leave. Now. Unless you want your parents knowing about the french vase you broke in that last party.” She bent her head a little. “Didn't your mother really love it?”

The jock gave her a frustrated look and straightened his jacket, pointing a finger at Stiles' face.

“Next time you touch me, you are getting sued.”

That... That was so pathetic in itself he didn't even feel the need to say anything. Well, he felt, Stiles always needed to have the last word, but he knew if the fight started again he was going to blow Jackson's face off, with or without magic, so he sat down again. Slowly, the dinning hall's noise returned.

“Don't know how you used to date that jackass.” He said to Lydia.

“Neither do I.” She sighed. “Just ignore him, it's what I did after we broke up.”

“Yeah, well, easier said.”

“Is it bad I wish someone would run him over?” Scott daydreamed, his hand letting go of Stiles' shoulder with a path.

“I can arrange that.”

“Don't joke.” Allison reprimanded, but a grin appeared on her lips. “Your Jeep would attract too much attention. We need another car.”

Each time she spoke Stiles' saw why Scott loved her so much. However it was in those moments that he was _glad_ his best friend was dating her, of all people. What a girl.

A couple of freshmen passed their table, obviously looking at Stiles and whispering between themselves. They quickened their pace when he stared back.

“Speaking of attention... Seems you just stretched your fame for a while.” Lydia smiled. “Congratulations.”

“Yeah, fuck me, I don't deserve this shit.” He bitterly bit his last fake nugget. It tasted like ketchuped cardboard.

“Well, you were the one complaining nothing happens in Beacon Hills, after all. You pretty much brought this on yourself.” Lydia grabbed her bag and stood up. “Anyway, me and Allison need to pass on the library before class. Enjoy your fans, Stiles.”

After a small eternity of Allison and Scott's goodbye kisses and stares with a longing that only teenager couples managed, they left. Stiles wasted no time in getting to the point as he had planned the whole morning – mostly because he couldn't be subtle if his life depended on it.

“So, Scottie, is your boss free this afternoon?” That had not been his best worded phrase, he would admit.

“Deaton?” Scott gave him a dubious look, putting his sandwich down. “...what do you want?”

“Just wanna talk to him, something... my dad... asked.” He was given the international 'cut the shit' face and raised his hands in defeat. “Well, alright, I need to ask something of him. Witch stuff.”

“Is this because of Jackson?” That weirdly maternal tone of voice Scott managed to do really pissed Stiles off a little.

“What? No! Don't give a fuck about that ass, this is my own thing.”

“Sorry, it's just weird.” Scott apologized. “I mean, aren't you super scared of him? I remember very well you said something that he, like, gives you chills and you would never pass on the clinic again?”

Of course he had to make it difficult. “Yeah, well, not my fault he is creepy. C'mon you can't say he doesn't give that mysterious, I-know-all-your-secrets vibe. Not cool, you know.”

“What do you want from him then, life advice?”

“You are getting too smart mouth on me, man. Try avoiding Lydia a little, alright?” Scott shrugged and took a huge bite from the sandwich. “But you are my bro, so if you really wanna know... I'll ask him, ugh-” Stiles prepared himself for the tsunami of shit talk. “I'm gonna ask him to train me.”

After five solid minutes of Scott laughing at his face – since he apparently was that much of a jerk – and another ten of him insisting Deaton would never say yes, he agreed to take Stiles. Not that he could stop him anyway, Scott hated pedaling to the clinic and would embrace any chance of getting a ride with Stiles. Also he really wanted to see Deaton's reaction.

That's how they ended up in the clinic's parking lot four hours later. Scott with a maniacal smile on his face and Stiles revising his arguments over and over. He would like to say he had a plan B in case Deaton refused him, but his best choice was breaking into the private section of the Beacon Hills Public Library and borrow some expensive books. He didn't think his dad would like that. According to him that was robbery.

Dr. Deaton gives them a mildly surprised look when he sees Stiles trailing along.

“How rare it's to see you here, Mr. Stilinski. Just remember you have no permission to go in the back or touch the medical supplies.” So his first visit had left a mark, apparently. At least he sounded vaguely welcoming, but also that's how he always does.

“Hey, mister... doctor... Hm, Dr. Deaton. How are you?”

“He doesn't like small talk, Stiles. Just get to the point.” Interfered Scott. “There is something he want to ask you.” There goes the smoothness and sweet talk. He wished he could stomp on Scott's foot, hard.

“Oh? What is it?” Deaton inquired, his eyes sparkling with the first genuine feeling Stiles ever saw in his face. That gave him a small amount of hope.

“Look, I know that's not usual and I'm gonna be honest I'm not the best witch ever and I can't pay.” He licked his lips. “But, I... Well, I'm a fast learner and I'm not asking this for kicks and laughs. So, uh, could you teach me magic?”

“No.”

“There it is.”

Deaton turned around and walked to the back of the clinic, Stiles wasted no time pushing past Scott and following despite his earlier request.

“It's not a great idea, but I'm serious here. Just think about it, Dr. Deaton, please!”

“I'm not a teacher, Stiles. I have a work and magic is not a toy.” He lectured. And, frankly, Stiles was getting tired of people treating him like a slow child.

“Don't you think I know it?” He snapped back. “Okay, sorry, no, bullshit, I'm not sorry. I need to learn magic. It's not even for me! I know it looks like teen drama but I promise it's not, not doing it for some girl, or my dad or whatever. It's an actual serious motive that I'm putting myself on the line for. I can't tell you now, but... Please, please help me. I'll even work for you. For free!”

At that, Deaton turned around and looked Stiles up and down, examining him so deeply it felt almost intrusive.

“I already have Scott.”

“I'll do anything you ask.” That was a step too far, Stiles' conscience tried to blast alarms in his head. Back the fuck off, boy. You have no reason to do this shit, that's not even your fight, oh my god. He wondered what he was getting himself into, but noticed he was already in too deep. “Anything. I'll come by any days you want, I'll train at home, really. Just teach me.”

Deaton took a step closer. “Scott, leave us alone for a moment, please.” Scott, that had followed them and was watching with such a fascinated expression that would be completed with a sack of popcorn, sighed and went away.

Was he going to get the dress down of his life? Jesus, he could feel the burn approaching.

“Show me your injury. The one you got at the Preserve.”

Stiles was taken aback for a second, but complied, turning around and raising his shirt. News traveled fast in the city, and also Scott probably had talked to him. “It's healed already.”

Was he honestly taking his clothes off, while alone with a guy twice his age just after promising he would do anything to be trained? His lack of forward thinking amazed him sometimes.

“Hm...” At least Deaton wasn't touching him. They stayed in that weird position for a long, solid minute, the veterinarian studying his scar mumbling to himself. “Interesting. What did you say that made this?”

“A coyote.”

“Did the doctors bought it?”

Stiles gulped. “Yeah.”

Deaton backed away and gave him that almost there smile after Stiles pulled himself back together. In the back of his mind, a voice whispered that somehow the veterinarian knew the truth, all of it. However he killed it, because it wasn't possible, that was just the normal impression Deaton made on people. Right?

“Will you give your best? Practice at home? Respect magic and not toy around with it?” Oh, shit.

“Yes, yes, yes! You bet.”

“Okay, I will teach you, Stiles. One condition: you will owe me a favor.”

“A... favor?” He cocked his head. “What kind?”

“I'm not sure yet. But when time comes, you will do it without a second thought.” If that wasn't a dangerous freaky ass mage thing to ask. “Agreed?”

“Alright.” Ah, that was going to bite him in the ass later, he could feel it. But his suspiciousness was dawned by his excitement as he nodded frantically at each of Deaton's requirements.

They would train four times a week, it would tire him off, exhaust him, but Stiles would have to keep up. He had permission to ask to borrow Deaton's books, and if anything happened to them the classes would stop. If he used his magic to do anything stupid, the classes would stop. If he stopped making an effort, the classes would stop. If he accidentally destroyed the clinic, the classes would definitely stop.

Stiles felt like he had signed a huge oral terms and conditions with his soul on the stake. The only difference is that he paid attention to what was said. Mostly. He was kind of buzzing too much to hear all the useless little things the veterinarian was listing. Don't fuck up was the general idea.

“We will start tomorrow, don't be late. Now go to the reception, the back room rule is still up today.” Deaton dismissed him.

“Hell yeah, boss. Thank you, again!” Stiles gave an exaggerated bow and practically skipped to the door.

Now, next part of the plan. The more stupid, impulse driven one.

“Wait, what? Why are you happy?” Scott stopped organizing... whatever the hell those pet medicines were, and gave him an incredulous look. “Oh, no. He didn't...”

“He fucking did! Suck it, dude. A big, fat yes in your face!” Stiles beamed. “Actually, my face, but, you get it. Better get used to seeing me here.”

“You are going to scare the clients away.” He made a face, but his dimples were showing.

“Since you lost the bet, I'm gonna need your bicycle for a few hours.”

“What the hell? We didn't bet anything!”

“Don't be a sore loser, Scott.” Stiles ruffled his hair. “I'll be back before your turn ends, don't worry.”

“No, okay, but wait! Where are you going?”

The thing was, they hadn't talked about the Preserve yet. It was brought up in one of the visits, but Stiles told the old lie, said he didn't remember anything. Of course Lydia didn't buy it, yet she didn't pressed. And Scott could have believed him, but he knew something was wrong. He was that good of a best friend.

Stiles really liked not talking about it, seriously. Seemed that telling what happened, talking of Derek would not only turn everything painfully surreal, but bare. Like it would explode on his face at any time.

But Scott deserved to know, and Stiles wasn't sure he could keep it all to himself for much longer.

“I'll tell you everything tomorrow, alright? _Everything_. But I gotta go, see ya!”

He saw Scott nodding with a confused face before closing the door behind him. He took the cramped bicycle out of the Jeep's roof and went.

Scott wasn't the only one who hated pedaling. Plus, the place were he had stopped last time on the Preserve was very, very fucking far away from the clinic. Jesus, if he wasn't so pumped with his new apprentice status he would've turned around and gone home.

Stiles hid the bicycle deeper in the woods, and proceeded on feet when the terrain turned shit. He walked for so long fear started bubbling on his stomach. Not of getting lost, he could deal with that during day. However, what if... he had imagined all that? It wasn't rare, he knew, people's minds creating elaborated scenarios to deal with trauma.

And what an impossible, elaborated scenario he had come up. A magic mansion, with a pack of enchanted wolves and an alpha werewolf in need of his help. None were probable alone, which spoke volumes about them played altogether. It had seemed real, but that's how it's supposed to be. He didn't had proof it had happened, none... Just...

Stiles absently grabbed his healed shoulder and took heavier steps. He hadn't dreamed. He wasn't delusional. Stiles repeated the words under his breath until he felt it.

The small, tingle of nearby magic. He ran, messily tripping over the soil, the mansion appeared in the distance and he stopped before passing the barrier. The situation was scarily similar to his first night. Except he wasn't filled with fear, oh no, the fear was only twenty percent of what he was feeling.

Before he could take another step three wolves came running from the front door, they circled him, sniffing his clothes and he smiled without noticing.

“Erica! Oh god, Cora, Isaac, how are you?” Erica jumped on him, giving what was probably the wolf version of a hug - and considering she was almost as tall as him on two paws, was very convincing. Stiles hugged her fluffy body back and she fell to the ground with a happy woof. “By the way, fuck you for not letting me now you are people before. Yeah, that was a low move.”

She gave him a fake innocent look and Stiles caught himself wanting to know how she looked as a human, how she sounded. She was probably such an asshole, they would get along fine.

“Hey, where is Derek?”

Just as he asked, Boyd and Peter appeared, with Derek right in the middle. Stiles swore that guy had a thing for dramatics, geez.

“What... Why are you here?” The alpha maintained his distance, every inch of his body language screaming 'defensive'.

“Chill, I didn't bring people with me if that's what you are thinking. And you are obviously thinking it. Rude.”

Derek didn't seemed in the least feeling guilty, which, alright, fair.

“Why are you here then?”

“Technically, I'm not.” Stiles kicked the dirt lightly. “Haven't passed through the barrier yet” Just in case, he completed mentally. “I don't have a lot of time, so I'll be direct. I want to make a deal.”

The werewolf visibly raised his shoulders, the wolves stepped away. They would need to work that trust issues in the future.

“Oh my god, I'm not gonna sell you out to the Argents or anything. Hear me out, that's probably the most stupid decision of my life, but I wanna help you.”

He did not expected the puzzled looks and the baffled silence. “Help?” Derek repeated as if he had never heard the work before. A very big possibility.

Stiles tried to word his next phrase in a way that wouldn't create a diplomatic accident, but that also would cut the crap.

“I'm not dumb, I figured you guys are stuck here, well, you also made it very clear. You are cursed right? Specially you.”

“Shut up. You have no idea what the fuck you are talking about.” So Derek may not be the most diplomatic guy. Stiles' clenched his fists, he could handle banging heads.

“Maybe. But it's true. You are cursed, stuck in this house and in his form.”

“Shut the fuck up.” From that distance, he could still he his lip twitching.

“Then make me! Come here, Derek, do it.” Stiles provoked, the wolves watched the confrontation warily. “What are you waiting for?”

The alpha stomped in his direction, and for a split second Stiles thought he had gotten it all wrong, fucked it up. That's how he died, bye life. However, with his full – admittedly frightening – height and sharp fangs bared he stopped, so close Stiles would touch him if he leaned a bit. Derek's red eyes bored him and his clawed hands were extended, flat against an invisible wall.

“I got the impression you needed my help.” Stiles said after regaining his breath. Was that his life that flashed before his eyes? “So... If... if that was true, tell me and I'll do it. If it's not, I'll go away. I know it's not much, but I promise I won't tell nobody. You will be safe here.”

The silence stretched for such a long time he considered turning around and going away, however Derek seemed to break a little, his posture deflating.

“Why would you help?” He asked in a small voice, forehead touching the barrier. Stiles never imagined the werewolf could look so tired, defeated. If he took a picture it would certainly enter one of those posts of '22 images that will break your heart'.

“I'm not sure myself.” He gave a small smile. “I guess I can't resist a mystery.”

“...What do you want, then?”

“Just one thing: You won't kidnap me again. Or make me cook meats. Or be a rude ass, and a jerk, and treat me like shit.”

“That's at least five things.” Derek replied with faint humor.

“Look, I'm not promising success, and I'm aware you don't have high hopes for me or anything. But I'm your chance to try, if you want it. What do you say? Do you want my help?”

Derek raised his head again, red eyes looking around, at his pack. He scanned each of them, before gazing at Stiles' with a mixture of exhaustion and determination. “I can't promise I won't be rude.”

“Good enough.” Stiles smiled. “So, uh... I'm going now, okay? I'll come back this week.”

“How are you?” Derek blurted out. “After... everything. Are you better?”

The werewolf winced in a way Stiles was very familiar. It was the same way he flinched when ended up saying something stupid. That made him want to pinch his bearded cheeks. Which would probably turn into a dismemberment session very quick, so he kept his hands to himself.

“Yeah, I'm cool. I'm a tough skinny human, dude.”

Stiles decided he didn't need to know if Derek's obvious relief was because he wasn't guilty of a boy's death or if he was honestly happy to know he was okay. But damn, he really wanted to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A happy new year for you guys!!! May 2016 be fucking worth it :D


	9. Fuck the curse

“Stiles that's the worst prank you've ever pulled.” Scott laughed.

Stiles remained in silence, arms crossed until his friend quieted down. Scott hesitated for a few seconds and gave an awkward smile. “You _are_ joking right?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, dude, haha, stop that. You are making me worried.” He furrowed his eyebrows when Stiles stayed still. “I think we should call my mom, yeah, I'm gonna do it. They said you would be confused after waking up.”

“No, what? Drop that.” Stiles ripped Scott's phone of his hand. “I woke up more than a week ago! I'm not imagining things. I'm not hallucinating, or the doctor wouldn't have let me go, would he?”

“Yeah, but you told him you didn't remember anything.”

“Because I knew how it would fucking look if I talked about werewolves in a hospital!” He hissed.

“It doesn’t look much better in your room, you know.” Scott pointed out, his dubious expression still there. “Are you seriously asking me to believe this story? I mean, just to begin with, werewolves are extinct!”

At that rate the whole neighborhood would hear them screaming about fucking werewolves.

“I thought the same until I met _six_ of them!” Stiles enunciated between clenched teeth, trying to ignore the cold feeling that started to crawl on his stomach. “You saw that thing running after us that night. You know it wasn't just some coyote.”

It never occurred to him that Scott would refuse to believe him so strongly. Of course, all that was a hard thing to swallow, yet... They were friends. Maybe thinking that would be enough had been childish. Like, if it were inverted and Scott was the one telling him shit about werewolves he would... Actually, Scott would deny everything and Stiles would be the one to mention were-fucking-wolves.

He really hadn't thought that through.

However, before Stiles' heart could explode in his chest, Scott scratched his chin and pondered:

“You are saying the truth, right? That's not some shitty joke.”

“It's true! Do you really believe a coyote would claw me open and run away?” He scoffed. “Not even my dad bought it.”

“Okay then, that's... fucked up, a lot. And I can't believe I'm saying this but, alright. I've got you.”

Stiles sighed and suppressed the urge to hug Scott, since it would be a bit awkward with him sitting and Stiles on his feet. There would be time later. “I knew I could trust you with this. Thanks.”

“When are you going to tell Lydia and Allison?” Stiles flinched and Scott's eyes widened. “Seriously?! You are not?”

“No, maybe... I don't know? I think the less people know it, the better. Also... Don't get me wrong, I'm not doubting her or anything, but Allison is an Argent.”

Plus, there had been a pretty clear agreement between Stiles and Derek that he wouldn't tell anyone. But even a werewolf must know that 'anyone' doesn't cover 'best friend'. Oh, boy, he could only hope that wouldn't bite him in the ass later.

He readied himself for Scott's protests, nobody could even mention a single stray hair of Allison without listening to an earful. However no matter how disgruntled he looked, Scott let it pass. Best friend privileges. “Lydia will find out soon, and she is gonna be pissed.” Scott said. “Then, she's gonna tell Allison.”

“They will get it.” Allison? She would. Lydia? He could pray.

“So... You are going back to the mansion.” Stiles nodded, and that sour face deepened. “I don't like this. What if something happens to you?”

He avoided Scott's eyes. “That's why I'm telling you. Also cuz you have the right to know.” Stiles interrupted him before he could say anything. “I gotta help them, Scott. You would do the same.”

At that, Scott closed his mouth. “I would tell you to not do anything stupid but it's too late. So just be careful, alright? And always text me when you go there and when you come back.”

“Gotcha, dad.” Stiles smiled.

“Fucking unbelievable, werewolves. Only you could attract this.” He muttered while getting his backpack from the floor. “Come on.”

On their way to the clinic Stiles told Scott more about his time at the mansion, about each wolf and Derek. Stiles may or not have made him sound a bit less irritable, just so Scott wouldn't fuss over his safety more than necessary. One way or another, Stiles felt himself with a weightless heart that was quickly replaced by pure, burning annoyance when Deaton announced they wouldn't have class that day.

Apparently he needed to organize an emergency surgery for a dog that was ran over that morning. Which, alright, he could respect that. It was a dog, dogs weren't responsible for any bad thing in the world.

Except that Deaton decided to travel the very next day. To a fucking whatever conference in Ohio.

Stiles should fire Deaton as a teacher. _H_ _e_ was supposed to be the irresponsible jackass.

“It's actually a very famous congress about the use of magic in treating animals.” Scott explained as if he cared. “He had been planing that for a couple of months. Deaton even hired a substitute, she is nice.”

“Is the substitute gonna teach me magic, Scott? No, she won't.”

The only good thing that came from that was Deaton showing him his little collection of books – that he stored in the clinic for some reason – which were all, weirdly, very new. With him away, Stiles could stuff them in his bag without Deaton's questioning eyes on him.

Something told him that no matter how impressive the mansion's library was, the books weren't so useful or the werewolves would be free by the moment.

Besides, Stiles knew enough about old grimoires to understand they weren't very simple or intelligent, just interesting. The only one he managed to read before spoke in rhymes and was from the time people still thought they could cure a flu by bathing in watered pig fat. Yeah, he wasn't that desperate.

After spending entire afternoons flipping through hundreds of pages of spells he couldn't even dream about performing, he found a chapter about curses. Which absolutely did not contained anything about families stuck in fucked up bodies and unable to leave their own house. What was that? Teenager curse?

“I can't focus on chemistry with you groaning.” Scott complained, sitting on the floor with a pile of homework.

“Go home then.”

“This is my home!” He punched Stiles' leg. “Whatever, if I look at a carbon again I'll go blind. Scoot over.” Scott fell on the bed next to him, looking at the books. “You can't find the curse?”

“No.” Stiles grumbled. “But, like, it's weird you know. You can't create curses, it's super hard and, now, illegal. Pick that one up and help me.”

Scott obeyed gladly and glanced curiously at the pages. Sometimes Stiles forgot that his friend didn't have much contact with magic, just the normal stuff and what he brought to him.

“Shouldn't you wait? Maybe ask Derek more about it and then research?”

“Yeah, look, I don't think Derek will open up if I ask pretty please. They all have some serious trust issues.”

“Hm,” Scott hummed and they kept searching. “What makes you so sure it's a curse?”

Stiles' fingers twitched, he had been stuck on the same phrase for the past ten minutes and Scott wasn't happening.

“Well... There are not a lot of things that make people stuck in a specific physical shape and place. Sounds very Disney witch-y to me.”

“No, I get it. But didn't you say something about a magic tree?” Scott put his book down. “You think that's were the curse is from, right? Did you read the introductory chapter?”

“Why the fuck would I-” A page was pushed in front of Stiles eyes, and he grumpily scanned the paper were was neatly written in Times New Roman:

_Despite what some may think, along with the many characteristics that differentiate a curse from a spell, curses never derive from a biological source. They are the occurrence of a specif spell that was modified and placed in a non-living object for constant casting, however, being periodically refueled by the magic of the one who cast it in first place._

“Oh.” Which was a more eloquent way of saying 'well, shit'.

“Are you one hundred percent sure it was coming from the tree?”

“Totally.” Remembering it made a shiver run down his spine. “You didn't see that thing, Scott, it almost glowed... in an eerie, dark way, but still.”

“So... what kind of magic can do this?” Scott asked with sincere interest.

The answer was that Stiles had no idea. There were a million and one different types of magic and ways of fucking someone's life with it, so, he did what people do when they are lost: a list. In the end, he and Scott spent the rest of the afternoon scanning every single section's introductory chapter of all things. It was boring, slow and annoyingly professional.

At least at the end of the day, when they fell asleep in a pile of books, Stiles had a piece of paper secured in his hand and a lot of hope his plans would work.

It was Friday when Stiles stole Scott's bike again and went to the mansion with a bloated backpack smelling of grease. That time, Derek was waiting for him alongside Erica and Cora.

“You came back.” The alpha commented.

“God, stop sounding so surprised. I may not have a lot of morals but I'm not that much of an asshole.” Stiles unconsciously pet the wolves and walked until he reached the veranda, sating down on the wooden boards and letting his backpack fall heavily on the grass. “Plus, I bring gifts.”

“Gifts?” Derek came closer with a curious look. He sniffed the air. “Is that... food?”

“Better: _fast_ -food!” Before he could even get all of the paper bags off the backpack, all the wolves had ran over, snouts twitching and piling over Stiles to get a better scent. “Hey, c'mon, back off a little.”

A fluffy tail hit his face and who knew tails were so fucking strong.

“Hey!” Derek was staring with amused eyes. “Do something!” A heavy paw smashed his thigh. “Ow! That's not funny, you overgrown pups, get out. Derek, help!”

The alpha, being the bastard he was, only bent over, picked a bag for himself and sat a little farther from the commotion, leaving Stiles to be trampled by hungry wolves. He tried to push them off, but they were massive, luckily, they were also desperate for human food, so in a few seconds Stiles was free. The wolves scattered around, each one greedily destroying the paper bags and gulping down the fries and sandwiches faster than should be possible.

He was left with two bags, and looking around he easily found the black sheep. Through the open front door Stiles could see Peter lying down, back turned to his direction.

“What is his problem with me?” Stiles asked, unpacking his food, making sure to not get any on his clothes. His dad absolutely couldn't know he had been eating shit. He would start having ideas about equal treatment and demand fast food and that wouldn't do.

Derek didn't even look back to make sure who Stiles was talking about, which spoke volumes. The almost reverent face he had while picking his hamburger also did. “Peter doesn’t like anybody, don't feel special.”

“You are such a nice guy, Derek.”

Stiles watched, a smug grin forming on him as Derek took the first bite and closed his eyes, obviously making an effort to not groan in delight or eat too fast. Stiles had felt the same way when he was released from the hospital, still it was not the same thing, since... well, years can't compare to a week. He briefly wondered all the other things the werewolves had been deprived of. Jesus, how depressing.

“Good, right?”

Derek didn't try to mask the religious experience he was having. “Better than I remembered.”

“Ah... did you used to eat fast food a lot?” Stiles almost smacked himself, what a great fucking conversation starter. Good job, idiot.

Thank god Derek seemed too focused on his food to care about the worst small talk ever. “No, my family liked to cook. But still... some things you just miss.”

Not surprised, Stiles thought while his eyes roamed down the expense of Derek's very visible ripped abdomen. No- not roamed. He just looked quickly to confirm his suspicions. Yeah. The alpha had probably been one of those gym centered, all healthy dudes and it showed. God, it showed a lot in those shredded shirts he insisted in using.

Stiles stuffed his mouth with french fries, his brain got weird when he was hungry.

“I'm the one that cooks at home.” He tried talking while chewing, he had practice so it came almost comprehensible. “Dad's never home for long and he hates healthy food, but he needs it. He is always complaining like a kid when his plate is all green and shit.” Stiles smiled and swallowed. “He likes it though, not bragging but I'm a damn good cook.”

“Are you always babbling?” Derek finally asked, Stiles nodded and finished his fries. “God, I pity your parents.”

Stiles wasn't offended, he had seen the alpha pissed before and knew that he wasn't being rude. It was probably his weird way of bonding without sounding too chummy. Yet, he couldn't help but flinch a little.

“Parent.” He corrected automatically. “I don't have a, hm, you know.”

“Oh, I-” Derek cleaned his throat with a contrite look on his face. “I'm sorry.”

“No, it's okay. Do you want this?” Stiles offered his untouched hamburger. “I'm not really hungry.” The 'anymore' was left unsaid.

For a second he thought Derek was going to explode by the way his eyes flickered between the hamburger and his face. Probably emotional overload.

“Don't worry, dude. It's been a while already, also there was no way you could've known.” He scooted closer and pushed the food on Derek's hands.

Stiles rubbed his eyes and they stayed in silence for a couple of seconds, observing the wolves finish their happy meals. It really had been a while, but it was still hard, specially when they never talked about it. If his dad could just... Stiles took a deep breath and tried to compose himself, he was not in the mansion to mop.

“By the way, we need to talk.” Derek was already halfway through the second sandwich. Jesus, Stiles was torn between planning to bring more of those or wait until he needed to touch in a bad subject. Like at that moment.“And you can't get pissed at me, alright? I mean, you can, I can't stop you. But you promised to be level headed and hear me out.”

Derek groaned and sat straighter, his invisible eyebrows knitting together. Yet he was still calmer than most of the time they had spent together. The fast-food had been a glorious move.“Spit it out.”

“Don't be an ass, then.”

The werewolf waited for him to continue.

“I've been searching, and I need you to tell me more about your curse.” Stiles blurted.

The reaction was instantaneous, some wolves' ears turned in their direction and they stopped pigging out. Derek, contrary to what Stiles had expected, looked down, his red eyes scanning the wooden floor as if it had all the answers. His shoulders dropped and he had that miserable appearance all over again, that time, though, it was over in a second.

Derek rested his forehead against the veranda's railing.

“It's not a curse.” He admitted.

What, Stiles wanted to say, why didn't you tell me sooner? That would've saved a precious time of my life, he really, really, wanted to complain. However, he was trying very hard to be a better person and limited himself to: “What is it then?”

“We tried to break an abjuration... _a protective spell_ , and it went wrong.” Stiles knew that tightness around Derek's eyes too well, he saw it in his dad, in himself sometimes. It said 'it was my fault'. He wasn't going to press.

“You mean the spell that keep people from finding the mansion, right?” He asked softly.

“Yeah.”

Stiles didn't ask why they were trying to break what kept them safe, if anything else had happened, if somebody was hurt, if the tree existed before it all. He didn't even feel particularly proud that 'abjuration' was on his list of possible 'not-curses'.

In the meantime, Cora had trotted closer, resting her head on Derek's lap. As Stiles took the scene in, his mind raced over all that he had read about abjurations that day with Scott, and while he found the answer a realization hit him: He had become more than just a little devoted to helping them. _That_ one, definitely, would bite him in the ass later. Or sooner. Fuck, he hoped for later.

“Your form is a side effect.” Stiles concluded, attracting their attention. “It can happen, specially with strong spells. I read that... What was it? Ah, yeah, it's a way of the spell to strengthen itself or something.”

“What are you saying?” Derek asked clearly already knowing where he was going.

“Long story short, we can't break it until you are all back to normal. Or, well, I mean, in control of your physical form, since, you know, werewolves.”

“Okay.” He said slowly. Stiles didn't want to know if he was pissed at that. He would be. “What do we need to break the side effect?”

“You don't _break_ a side effect! You gotta reverse it somehow, stop it, I don't even think you can use magic for it.”

Derek rubbed his face. “We can't turn, Stiles!” He groaned. “What the fuck am I suppose to do? Put makeup and a dress on Erica?”

Erica turned her head alarmed and looking ready to ran way.

“No.” Stiles noticed how the sky was already turning reddish with the sunset. “Shit, look, I gotta go. I'll figure this out and come back soon.” He hurriedly closed his now light backpack and took what was supposed to be Peter's food. “Hey, loser didn't want it, all yours.”

At least three wolves stopped what the were doing and bolted for the paper bag he had threw in their direction. He put 'bring more food' on his mental list.

“See you, Derek.”

The werewolf was staring at him with that expression again, as if Stiles was an alien about to reveal himself. At least he gave a weak wave back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, this one took a bit longer, sorry, had to deal with a lot of college stuff. Like, trying to get in one. Anyway, I noticed my way of writing dialogues it not right in English, so I'm sorry but I'm far too gone to change it now, so bear with me, darlings.   
> I hope 2016 is treating all of you well! :)


	10. Fuck Joshua

When Stiles packed his bag full of cleaning products, he had an awesome idea. At least, he thought it was one, since, well, that was the best solution he came up with after reading everything about abjurations and side effects. No matter if the longer he thought about it the more stupid it sounded. Made enough sense until a better thing came up.

He was about to park his Jeep in front of Scott's house when he noticed there was another car on his usual spot. An expensive, douche looking car. That could only mean two things: Jackson or Argents.

Stiles groaned and parked a little farther ahead, preparing himself to be polite with Chris or, worse, Allison's mom. Maybe he wouldn't need to see neither of them, just a quick text to Scott warning he was going to burrow his bike and be gone. But of course, luck hates Stiles on a personal level.

He was turning the bike around and ended up face to face with Joshua Argent. Stiles wasn't sure if it was better or worse than Allison's parents.

“Need some help with that?” He offered with a smile.

“Dude, it's a bike.”

Stiles kept walking and of course the prick followed him.

“I know, but you just came out of the hospital. By the way, I've been meaning to talk with you and what a coincidence, right? I just came to drop Ali off and here you are.”

No, that's karma, Stiles thought. All the relief he felt when Joshua graduated last a year ago was gone, amazing. So much for the hope he would've only needed to endure Jackson for the rest of High School and that jerk was still just around the corner.

“How are you feeling?” Joshua continued.

“You should ask my dad that, you know, he was the only shot in the head.” Stiles hissed tightening his grip on the handlebars.

“Oh, about that.” He waved his hand as if he hadn't almost killed a fucking person. “Already apologized. Come on, you can't blame me, he shouldn't be walking in the woods at that hour, I thought he was some animal.”

At that, Stiles had to refrain himself from dropping the bike and jumping on Joshua's throat.

“He was there because of you, you idiot!” He snapped. “Since you decided that it was a good fucking idea to break the treaty and go hunt imaginary werewolves like a stupid drunk kid.”

The worst part, something Stiles hated on Joshua for years, is that he didn't even moved. He could scream with him, punch him, insult him and he would always stand there looking amused at his anger. It always made his blood boil and feel just a bit stupid. Jesus, he hated that guy.

“I always liked your temper.” Joshua took a step closer and lowered his voice. “Stiles, you can't deny there is something in the Preserve. We all know it. _You_ must know it. Don't tell me you didn't see anything during the time you spent there?”

“I didn't see shit.”

A hand settled on his scarred shoulder, thankfully covered by the hoodie. “Really? Because I've heard that you got a very interesting gift from your night out there.” He squeezed.

Stiles contained his shudder and shook himself free. “Wanna go hunting coyotes? Be my guest. Now, get out of the way, you lunatic, I'm late.”

Joshua, that creepy smile still on his face, backed off.

“Always nice seeing you, Stiles.”

Muttering a 'fuck off', he rode away, painfully aware of Joshua's eyes glued on his back. He hadn't changed since school, actually if Stiles was feeling optimistic he could say he even got better. Joshua, only two years older than him, had been the only Argent except Allison to frequent Beacon Hills High School. And, unfortunately, he seemed to have all the bad genes.

Joshua had a... thing for Stiles, who never understood that. The creeper ignored him most of the time, but if they bumped or ended up in the same party or class, he went full weirdo on. Joshua, just like Jackson, thought himself as a very funny person that was being incredibly amusing when tried to annoy Stiles. Except he also thought he was flirting. Plus, he thought Stiles was a bit into him.

Urgh.

Stiles' theory is that he had some serious internalized gay thing for him. Just not so internalized most of the time though. He pushed those memories off of his mind and decided to hide the bike on the mansion that day, since he wouldn't be surprised if Joshua had decided to follow him.

A shiver ran down his spine and he walked faster.

When Stiles arrived at the mansion, Derek wasted no time trotting towards him, sniffing around. “You brought _soap_?”

“Hi for you too.” He lowered the bike carefully on the ground. It may be a piece of trash, but Scott would kill him if it broke.

“That's what took you so long? Shopping?” The alpha said.

“Wow, we are chatty today.” Derek crossed his arms. “I know you missed me, but I had to do some research, dude. And shop.”

“I'm assuming you found something and didn't just came here to clean my house.”

“Actually,” Stiles climbed the front stairs and put his hands on his hips. “I did came here to clean the house.”

Cora and Erica had appeared, coming from the back of the mansion without hurry. At least the wolves were getting used to him.

“So, here is the thing, I just wanna rub it in your face for a second: I was right.” Derek rolled his eyes. “We can't use magic, unless you know some spell to unlock a werewolf. Anyway, we need to make you, specially _you_ Derek, feel like yourself again. And I was wondering, dude, what makes people feel like themselves you know, and I got it. We are going to make this mansion anew, you anew until the tree can't feed of you anymore.”

The werewolf scoffed and pushed past him into the house. “That's ridiculous. I feel like myself. Come back when you have a true solution.”

“Don't be an ass, sourwolf.” Stiles followed him, who seemed to only be walking to avoid conversation. What a child. “I know what I am talking about. Come on you said you would trust me.”

“I never said that.”

“You said you wouldn't be a jerk and look where we are.” Derek at least looked a bit sorry for that. “Besides, if it doesn't work at least you will have a nice house again. Plus, time to brainstorm.”

“The mansion is good enough as it is.” He said defensively.

Stiles gave him a dubious look and stroked the nearest wall, his hand came back with a thick cover of gray dust. Cora, who followed them, contorted her wolf-face in what was such an impressive mask of disgust she only lost to Lydia's

Derek shuffled on his feet, no, er, paws? He crossed and uncrossed his arms, measuring Stiles with his eyes and finally gritting out:

“I hate you.”

“Love you too.” Stiles dumped his backpack on the couch. “Where do we start?”

They started there, since it was the main living room. Main. Stiles had to stop himself from thinking how stupid rich Derek's family had been.

At least he had the decency to call all wolves to help, even Peter had grumpily agreed after a long stare contest between him and Derek. He had no clue how they would help, but he would figure it out.

In the end, being the tallest one, Derek was responsible for cleaning the highest parts of the walls – with no small amount of stinky eye while at it. Stiles made the wolves do the only manageable thing: stomp on the couches and pillows until all the dust was off and messily scrub the floor clean with wet cloths. Stiles was feeling like some weird magic maid while he rubbed the furniture.

No, no, Cinderella. Was he going to let his sneaker fall while he ran away from the mansion? Stiles was about to make a joke about Derek being his hairy godmother when it happened.

A loud sneeze that made Isaac and Erica startle. Cora dropped everything with a delighted look and Peter continued his duties with an unimpressed snort. Derek's back were tense and he pointedly didn't turn around.

“Was that you?” Stiles asked, feeling a smirk stretch his lips.

“Shut up.” Derek sneezed again.

That was gold. Stiles' cheeks were going to be sore.

“Dude, are you allergic?”

“No.” Sneeze.

“Holy shit.” Again. “Oh my god, that's... “Stiles let a badly stifled laughter escape. “Look at you, big bad alpha!”

At that, Derek turned enough to glare at him. “Go back to your cleaning or-” The possible threat was destroyed by another loud sneeze.

“Alright, alright.” Stiles stopped looking and tried his best to stay calm. “You know I'll never let you forget that.”

“Fuck off.” Atchoo!

That had made his day a thousand times better. Jesus he would be okay bearing Joshua once more if that was his prize. Stiles had to convince himself to be a sensible human being and to not grab his phone and start recording that. Grumpy McGrump having an allergy session was not worth someone finding the video. Almost. It was hard to decide.

After a while, though, it got boring and slightly annoying. Derek tried to stop, but the sneezes kept coming and he was obviously getting more pissed by the minute. The wolves seemed used to it, but it was very distracting for Stiles. Also... he felt kinda bad.

“Do you want something to cover your face?” Stiles asked.

“I don't need it.”

“You sure?” Silence. A sneeze. “Seriously, dude, don't be stubborn.”

“I'm almost finished, you should too.”

Stiles sighed and crossed the living room, he touched Derek's shoulder and he turned around without looking on his direction. His nose was more scrunched up than usual, the guy was trying hard.

“Bend over a little.” Stiles asked.

“Why?” He sounded alarmed.

“Cuz I'm going to slap you. Dude, just do it, god.”

Derek did, diminishing a little the height difference the wolf legs gave them. Stiles pretended to not notice that was the closer they've ever gotten since the accident – doesn't count when there is a magic barrier in the middle.

He raised the clean green cloth and tied it in a firm knot behind Derek's head, covering his nose and mouth. Stiles' fingers brushed against his hair, it was a bit long there was no way he could've avoided it. His throat felt suddenly dry as he noticed how soft it was, just like the wolves' fur. Unconsciously, he stroked the hair a little.

Derek was staring at him, all red and not at all scary.

“There you are.” Stiles forced himself to take a step back and almost ran back to his spot on the room. Fuck, fuck, why was his face burning?

Were the wolves looking at him? Was Derek? He didn't know, he couldn't force himself to check. Felt like it.

“Thanks, Stiles.”

Stiles closed his eyes and tried to convince himself the legends about werewolves' being able to hear heartbeats were bullshit.

 


	11. Well, fuck

To be honest, Stiles imagined his classes with Deaton would be at the clinic's main examination room. He pictured himself sitting on the white floor meditating while Scott worked nearby. Had he considered how annoying caged animal's noises could be? No. Had he considered the smell? Nope. Yet he was not more comfortable sitting on the armchair of Deaton's office, the one with lots of flammable books and curtains.

“Are you _sure_ about having classes here?” asked Stiles, bouncing his leg up and down.

Deaton raised one eyebrow, “Of course, otherwise you will upset the animals and the clients.”

“But here I can upset the whole clinic into a fire.”

“Don't worry about it, Stiles.” He laughed softly. “This place survived things far worse than a teenager.”

“Thanks.”

Deaton crossed his arms and leaned against his table. “Alright, let's begin. First of all, I'd like to know if you ever tried any type of magic before.”

“Well, duh, all kinds of stupid spells you can find on YouTube. They never work though.” Stiles shrugged, avoiding the vet's eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know... Nothing happens or everything goes wrong. One time I was trying to uh... just, trying some stuff, and I ended up exploding a beef.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But things work too, like, I can levitate some stuff, light stuff. Make sparkles and such. I'm not good but I'm not useless. I promise I'll try my best-”

“Stiles,” interrupted Deaton, “Have you been unblocked? Linked?”

Stiles shot his heap up, sure he had heard wrong.

“I'm sorry, what the hell is that?”

“I see.” Deaton begin to explain. “You see, some parents decide to block part of their children's magic when they are born, a way of avoiding future accidents while the kids don't have control of their powers.” He gesticulated. “Usually, the blockade wares off with time and basic spells can be performed, but for anything else it needs to be removed. It's a quite fascinating technique, only been applied to new borns recently. A number of people are opposed to it, me included, yet I can see the benefits.”

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait.. Alright, hold on a second.” Stiles lifted a hand in the air, trying to organize his thoughts. “Are you saying my parents locked my magic up so I wouldn't fu- make a mess?”

Deaton didn't look fazed, which was insulting even if the life changing news weren't about him, “Possibly. And considering you, Stiles, it was a comprehensible decision.”

“Ha, ha, very funny! Can you take it off? Please take it off.”

The vet walked on his direction as he rolled up his sleeves, “Calm down. We still don't know if you have it or not, since – considering what you told me – you shouldn't be able to explode anything, intentional or not. It requires too much energy.”

Stiles felt his breath hitch, for some unknown reason he wasn't angry at this parents for sealing him up and never saying anything. Actually, it really was understandable, even before his mom got sick they never had a huge amount of money, and if she saw the moment Stiles was born he was going to be a hyperactive and curious kid that already destroyed too much without active powers.. Who could blame her?

Also, between moving from place to place and finding hospitals to treat his mom, they never had the time to talk about his magic. Stiles honestly couldn't find it in himself to blame his parents.

It just... It... felt weird. The possibility of having something inside him, blocking his spark, it was driving him crazy really fast. Stiles knew it was all on his head but he could almost feel it, squeezing, numbing his senses. He wanted it out.

For a millisecond, he asked himself if that's how the werewolves felt about not being able to change their form. At the same time, he felt a pang of guilt on his belly. Stiles wanted the blockade to exist, it would mean he didn't suck at everything even magic.

“Can you check if it's there or not?” He said in one breath.

“Of course, it's not an overly complicated seal.” Deaton was giving him the I'm-a-doctor stare, which really made Stiles feel like an unruly puppy. “Where is your spark located?”

Stiles pointed quickly to the spot right at the end of his neck, near the collarbone. Deaton hummed and gave the worst possible advice in the world:

“Relax.”

Stiles almost smiled. He moved his eyes to the ceiling and let the vet work. Deaton put two fingers just above his spark and stayed quiet for a few seconds, Stiles didn't need to see to know he was frowning slightly, completely focused.

“Oh.” Please let it exist... please let it... “That's surprising, it's there.”

His throat felt a dry.

“Do you want me to remove it?” Stiles nodded so fast he got a bit dizzy. What kind of question was that! No, leave me bonded for the rest of my life. “Alright, I should warn you: It can be a little... unsettling. There are reports of people getting sick or taking weeks to get used.”

“Rip it off like a band-aid!”

Deaton seemed largely unimpressed.

“Uh... I mean, of course, I understand. I'm ready, promise I'm not going to puke in your carpet.”

“Take a deep breath, and focus on your spark.” He instructed.

Deaton's fingers stayed there, not even changing the pressure, yet Stiles could feel his magic moving. It was so fucking weird, when Deaton's magic arrived at his spark he felt the seal for the first time, like a physical entity wrapping it. Then it broke, as simple as a locket with pliers. It was not impressive, there was no explosions, light, anything.

And then the whole world shifted.

As he opened his eyes, Stiles could clearly see there were no changes. Yet... he could feel so much more, Stiles felt Deaton's magic even as he backed away, he felt his own magic, running free for the first time. The own room's protective spells buzzed faintly around him. It was like being overly sensitive, but definitely not in a bad way.

He wondered how that tree at the mansion would feel, how the barrier would. Would he werewolves appear magical too? Fuck, Stiles couldn't wait to go back and show it to Derek. To the wolves. To his dad and-

Stiles inclined forward and puked on the carpet.

Deaton sighed.

 

* * *

 

According to Scott he was walking weird, which was bullshit. Stiles was walking perfectly fine, he just wasn't that able to make a straight line longer than a ten feet. That's why he took so long to arrive at the mansion, not because he didn't manage to drive faster than thirty miles per hour. Definitely not because his feet seemed opposed from getting away from the ground sometimes.

Also, both Deaton and Scott had insisted he should wait in the clinic for a few hours. As if Stiles could manage to stay put now that he had new magical goggles.

As the mansion rose between the woods and he felt the same as ever, a disappointing weight started to sink in his chest. It all but evaporated after he put a foot into the barrier. A tingly wave washed over him, so heavy it made his knees buckle and Stiles fell on the grass before he could stop himself.

Jesus, if before he could feel that trees magic everywhere, now it was right there. He could see it if he closed his eyes, smell it, touch it, almost taste in the back of his tongue. It was clearly not good magic, yet neither bad, just a little crook and unkempt.

Between the roots curving in every direction, Stiles also felt three presences approaching rapidly. It was not a human, quiet hum like Scott, or bright as Deaton. He opened his eyes and stared at the werewolves towering over him. Derek, as usual, seemed uptight about something.

“Why are you on the ground? Are you hurt?” Stiles' mistake, it was his worried face.

“My day has been very weird. Do you wanna now how your magic feels?”

Erica and Isaac apparently decided he was just fine and went back into the mansion. Stiles was starting to feel a little high so he was not overly offended, actually it felt fascinating how their presence disappeared. He had not a large ratios, it seemed.

“I'm going to leave you here then.” Derek said.

“No!” Stiles grabbed his furry paw. He never noticed how thick it was holy fuck.

“Stop stroking my feet.”

“Ops, sorry.” Derek frowned at him. “Anyway do you wanna hear about my day?”

“Stiles, the only reason I know you are not high right now, is because I can smell you. And you smell like a pet shop.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Do I even wanna know?”

“Oh, yes, you do. Now, can you help me in? I don't think I can get up.”

Derek groaned and offered his hand, Stiles took it without thinking twice. It was a very weird walk to the main living room, his legs weren't working right and he refused to let Derek carry him like a sack of potatoes as he obviously intended. Body fully functional or not, Stiles had his pride.

He put his arms below his head and hummed happily as he got comfy on the couch. Everytime he went there Stiles appreciated his work, the mansion was not that great yet, but there were at least two other rooms that didn't smell of mold and dirt anymore.

Even Derek could sit on the other couch without having one of his sneeze attacks again. How werewolves could develop allergies was still a mystery to Stiles.

“Okay, so, do you remember the meat accidents we had on the first days?” He started.

“Yes.” Derek answered flinching slightly.

“Yeah, alright, after I got released from the hospital I've been having some magic classes with my friend's boss – cool guy, bit weird – and like, he told me today I could have a thing called a block or something that parents put in their babies so they don't fuck things with magic. Can you believe this shit?” Stiles paused to breath, ignoring Derek's startled face. “And at first I was like, nah, dude, my dad would never do this. But apparently he would, cuz I have this and that's the reason I sucked at magic! So, shit went down, he took it off, the world looks weird, I threw up and came here.”

He licked his lips and blurted:

“By the way can I crash on your couch tonight? I think my body is slowly turning off from sensory overload, I'm getting sleepy and I really don't wanna face my dad today. I'm not ready to the super awkward conversation about hidden magic classes and the guilt trip my 'hey, I'm not mad, but you should've told me about this safe pin you put in my magic' will bring.”

At the bewildered silence from Derek and the few wolves present – a normal reaction to his talking outbreaks –, Stiles wiggled his eyebrows.

“Ta da?”

“Alright.” Derek said enunciating every syllable slowly. “From the beginning, what do you mean by magic classes?”

“Magic classes, duh, what else could it be? I had to beg a little and twist myself into a good boy cookie cutter, but he agreed. Also, he gave me asses to all those cool books.” Stiles thought for a second. “To be honest, if I knew it would be that easy to have free magic classes I would've went to his door beg before knowing any of this werewolf crazy.”

Derek shifted a little, for some reason he looked taken aback. “That's why you went there? Because of m- uh, this? Us?”

It was not a bad question, but Stiles was a little out of it, so he snorted. “Yeah? Why else would I go before? Like, yeah, I wanted to know more magic but I could wait a few more years.” Plus, he hated his dad's face when he brought up actual magic classes and he had to explain they didn't have enough money yet.

Stiles really hanged on that 'yet'.

“You didn't need to-”

“Oh, no, don't come with this crap.” Stiles interrupted, giving Derek a smile. “I'm having my share of fun out of this. Magic classes, dude, do you have any idea how long I've wanted to have those? And it's not like I'll stop after you are all okay again.” He tried to cross his legs, which took a little longer than anticipated. “Next time Jackson comes to piss me off I'll melt his shoe's soles and he'll get glued to the floor. I can't wait for the look on his face.”

At that, Derek smirked, having heard a bit about Jackson from Stiles. He leaned more easily into the couch, relaxing. Stiles enjoyed when he looked like that, without his guard up, made him even forget the crazy position they were in. Made something he didn't like to think about flutter in his stomach.

“So, you teacher's books are better than mine?” He joked.

“Sorry, man, I'm a book whore. I can't settle down with only one library.” Derek kind of laughed at that, the flutter was stronger.

 

* * *

 

 

Almost two weeks passed and everything was running more smoothly than anticipated. Nothing had gone wrong, Joshua stayed out of sight, the conversation with his dad had been not that cringe worthy, classes with Deaton were going fine and the whole first floor of the mansion was looking kind of new.

Stiles liked that, he liked the new pace his life had gotten, he liked the mansion. He enjoyed going there, getting away from Beacon Hills, and worst of all, he was always eager to spend time with the wolves and Derek.

It took him some time to notice something was weird. It was not the fact that he was less restless. Or that he spent almost everyday at the mansion, sometimes only doing his homework or talking with Derek. Those were not the changes that alerted him.

Stiles didn't notice when Derek sat down and explained physics to him and, at the back of his mind, there was the small though 'oh god he is smart too'. Stiles didn't notice when Derek handed him his credit card and told him to buy some things to the mansion, and he got weirdly happy at discovering his last name – Hale, suited him.

He didn't notice when Derek won at chess and was cocky the whole day. Or when both of them organized groceries in the empty cabinets a whole afternoon. He didn't noticed when they repainted the kitchen together. He didn't noticed when they turned on the magical generator he bought and for the first time in years the mansion lit up.

Stiles noticed when the wolves barked happily and Derek looked around, shining more brightly than the old lamps with a gleam in his eyes and fangs bared in a huge smile. Stiles almost managed to see him as a normal person then, he could imagine his nose, a normal smile and ears and even wondered what colors were his eyes. He thought to himself he didn't care much about the red.

He thought Derek really looked handsome with an honest smile, and it wouldn't be bad to make it happen again in the future. Derek turned to him and his heart jumped. The alpha frowned, smile gone, “Is something wrong, Stiles?”

The teen's ears burned and he quickly walked to the corner of the room, grabbing his backpack. “Nothing! I'm fine, you are _fine_ \- Ha, haha, you know what, it's super late. I gotta head home, can't stay tonight.”

“...okay? Erica can accompany you to your car.” He offered.

“Great!” Stiles looked down at his own paint dirty, sweaty shirt. “Actually, hold on.”

He grabbed a clean shirt from the backpack and took the destroyed one off, that one would be hard to explain to his dad. Stiles could bullshit something like school project or helping Deaton's paint some walls at the clinic.

Usually, being aware of the wolves presence – even if just as a short range – was soothing. It was not soothing, however, as he noticed Derek was suddenly very close to his back. His naked back. A clawed hand touched his shoulder and as Stiles' brain went full OH GOD OH GOD mode he thanked the gods he could blame his goosebumps on the chilly night air.

What the fuck was up with werewolves, or was that palpable heat wall behind him just a Derek thing? “What-” Oh amazing, his voice broke. Way to go.

“I almost killed you.” He whispered out of nowhere. “I'm so sorry.”

Oh, the scars. Stiles tried to come up with the right thing to say, but it's very hard to focus when calloused fingers are running up and down your shoulder. It's specially harder when the fingers belong to the person you may or may not have a crush on.

“No, that's not-”

“You went to the hospital, I thought you were dead, Stiles. Fuck, when you came here again I was so relieved. I-” Derek took his hand away as if he had been burned. Which, considering the body heat he was radiating would be absurd.

Stiles turned around and grabbed it without thinking twice. He wasn't sure when it had become so important to make Derek not feel like shit, but at that moment it was. “Don't do this.”

“I shouldn't have kept you here, it was wrong.” Derek shook his head. “If you had died, if I had killed you I would be exactly what the Argents expect. Shit, if I had killed you-”

“You didn't, okay?” Stiles interrupted him. “You didn't kill me, Derek, I'm alright. The infection was not your fault. The cut was an accident. And, okay, keeping me here was not a nice thing, but you were trying to protect your family and I get it. I get it, Derek.”

Red eyes scanned his face, “Stiles, why are you even here? After everything, why?”

Absent minded, the teen used his free hand to grab a bearded jaw. “Look, you fucked up sometimes, I can admit that. I fucked up too. But no matter what, you don't deserve to be trapped here for the rest of your life, neither do Erica, Isaac and the others.”

The artificial light made Derek look a bit less supernatural, it was one of those few moments he seemed painfully open. Stiles tried to ignore the million things running around his head, specially the big question 'how did we end up like this?', and said with an honesty that surprised himself:

“I don't blame you. It's not some Stockholm Syndrome thing too. I don't blame you, I forgive you, is that what you want to hear? Well, it's true. Listen to my heartbeat or some shit, I'm not lying.”

Derek stood still for a moment, pointed ears twitching as realization dawned on him. He squeezed Stiles' hand and his gaze rose to his eyes.

“Thank you.” A small smile rid of any actual humor formed. “I don't really deserve you.”

Welp.

Fuck.

Their current position dropped as an anvil on Stiles' head. They were practically glued front to front, holding hands, faces close and he was fucking petting his beard. Oh my god. Holy shit.

Nope. Red fucking alert. He wasn't ready to deal with that shit there.

Stiles untangled himself and messily put his shirt on, giving what had to be the most awkward laugh of his life. “Yeah, totally, I'm, like, the best person in this city. Nobody here deserves me, buddy, don't beat yourself.”

_Buddy._ He was going to throw himself in front of a moving car. It would be certainly be less embarrassing. He could imagine his dad and Scott flinching in second hand embarrassment.

“Yep.” Stiles threw his backpack over his shoulder in a pathetic attempt to get ridden of the feeling of Derek touching him. “Gotta go, super late. See you in two days? Yeah, let's go, Erica.”

Stiles didn't look at Derek or waited for an answer, but the wolves were no better. They were laying on the back of the kitchen, giving him those ridiculous stares that mocked him in a hundred different ways. He ran to the back door, refusing to have his own bullshit bared to him.

Derek didn't say anything, which was completely fine. Stiles was not sure he wouldn't do something stupid if the alpha decided to talk. Or worse, stop him.

As they went deeper into the dark woods, the werewolves' presences disappeared along with the mansion, until it was only he and Erica. Which proved much worse when she bumped into his legs, yellow eyes glowing mischievously.

“Oh, shut up.” Stiles shoved her, Erica barely moved. After a whole minute of silence he blurted out: “He is just hot, okay? In that weird, nonhuman way, he is hot, that's it.” She snorted. “This conversation never fucking happened, hear me?”

Erica didn't prodded any further and left him close to the street with a wet sniff on his cheek. Stiles tried to let his mind blank the whole drive home, and only spared a quick 'hey, bye' to his dad and a text message to Scott saying he was alive before hopping into the shower.

Stiles let the hot water wash away the sweat and paint that had glued on his arms and hair. He felt the stress of the whole day straining his muscles and reached for his dick like a normal seventeen years old. He really needed that, to get his head in anything else but... whatever his life has become.

He got hard in no time, a sigh escaping him as his fingers moved up and down, changing the pressure around the base. The heat of the spray warmed his back and the memory of Derek's body so close to his appeared on his mind.

Stiles' imagined Derek there, in the shower with him, he was so tall he would block most of the water. No, no no no... Holy crap, that's exactly the kind of thing he shouldn't think about. He tried to diverge his mind from that terrible fucking path, trying to imagine some generic porn. Or even girls to get more distant. But then his mind would be a little distracted and wonder... Would Derek turn Stiles around and press him against the cold tiles? What would he do?

Stiles decided Derek would brace his hands near his head, plaster his own chest against his back. Shit, Stiles had seen those muscles enough times he could describe every inch of them. Rubbing against him as Derek leaned down and nosed his neck, because of course he fucking would. And Stiles would let him, he would drop his head to the side and let Derek do anything. Kiss him, burning his skin with his beard. Bite him.

His fingers teased his cock's slit and Stiles let a filthy moan out before he could stop himself. Fuck, he had to keep quiet. He stuffed his mouth with his free hand and pretended those were Derek's fingers playing with his tongue.

Stiles' imagined Derek taking them off and teasing his ass before pushing two inside. Of course, pretending the claws didn't existed... or... Maybe he would ask Stiles' to open himself for him. He would watch, gaze piercing his neck.

Would he be bossy? Would he praise him? Tell him to go deeper or say how pretty he looked fucking himself? Stiles felt pleasure coil on his lower abdomen, trying his best to keep his mouth too busy to let any embarrassing sound come out. Those thoughts were not even supposed to turn him on. Everything about Derek was working for him and that shouldn't be so amazing.

Fuck, he would give anything for lube in that moment. But he couldn't wait, Stiles couldn't bear stopping, drying himself and going to his bed. His hand accelerated, frantically rubbing his cock as he pictured Derek's own. He was a big guy, he surely would be big down there too. Uncut, thick, the reddish head smeared with precum already.

Stiles whimpered, legs were getting weak. He wanted so badly to Derek to be there with him, one hand gripping his hair the other holding his hip while he entered him. Shit, he knew, he knew Derek would go slowly at first. But he wanted it rough, he wanted the werewolf to pond into him, fucking the light out of his eyes while he hammered his prostate.

He toyed with his balls briefly before continuing his rhythm, it was so messy, there was no finesse, nothing, he was thrusting on is own hand like an animal. Hot pleasure crawled up his spine and he felt his thrusts grow more erratic. Stiles' bit his fingers and stifled a loud moan as he cummed, all his muscles tensed and then unclenched as what had to be the best feeling in the world washed over him. Stars played on the edge of his visions and he slowly stopped moving.

Took all of his willpower to not fall because honestly Stiles felt made of jelly. That had been the best handjob of his short, amazing life, and there had been many. Stiles' could die in that shower for all he cared. He freed his fingers and stared at the small teeth marks he had left, a little blood disappearing in the water.

“Damn.” Stiles gave a breathless laughter, turning the shower off. He waited until his breath normalized, and as the afterglow wore off, reality came back. Stiles had masturbated to Derek. He just had had a very detailed fantasy of Derek fucking him into oblivion. “Oh, god.”

 


	12. Fuck Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, guys, 300 kudos!!! That's amazing, thank you so much for all the support, you are all awesome <3

There were still no visible changes in the pack, and if that wasn't a downer Stiles didn't know what was. He stayed up all night searching more about side effects and protection spells but the internet was simply useless for some things and there were too many books for him to search blindly. In the end, he was left with two choices: First of all, talk with Derek about cleaning the tree room and the second floor – that would be tough. Second, if that also didn't work, ask him to let Deaton help – and boy, he wasn't looking forward to that one.

But just because those two weren't bad enough, Stiles barely stayed long enough with Derek to approach the subject. To say he was embarrassed around the alpha was an understatement. The day after his... realization Stiles was sure he could play it cool, he had managed it while crushing on Lydia and that certainly wouldn't be different, except it was. The moment he saw Derek, his face went aflame and he left early lying about needing to study for a test.

From there on, the shame cooled down a bit, but was still hard to act normally. One part of him wanted to impress the alpha, say something cool and make him smile and shit. The other was praying to all possible deities he couldn't smell his attraction or see it. Because, by the looks Cora, Isaac and Erica were giving him, he wasn't being subtle.

“You are making that face again,” Derek said one day, snapping Stiles' out of his daydreams.

Those were mostly about wondering how Derek would react when he finally decided to make the suggestions. Then, they became about how nice the werewolf looked while talking, the way he managed through the fangs and all. By nice, Stiles meant it was weirdly attractive.

“Face?” He scoffed, sitting straighter, “That's my natural face, sorry if that weirded you out.”

However Derek rarely bought his bullshit, “No, that one is worse,” he stopped on his tracks, “I mean, you seem distracted those days.”

“Ah, uh,” Stiles looked around, trying to find a way to not exactly lie, to only found Boyd at the corner silently judging him, the jerk, “The magic classes are kinda tiring. I've never had to use so much of my spark before,” he confessed.

“You shouldn't let him push you too hard,” Derek touched his arm in a friendly way. That's it. Friends.

Stiles – as the smooth player he was – laughed nervously and turned his attention back to the notebook on his lap, “I can take a little pushing.”

“I bet you can.”

That wasn't supposed to sound like a fucking innuendo, Stiles was sure. No, it _wasn't_ an innuendo. But... well, let's say he had spent too much time thinking about Derek and pushing on the same scenario to take it as anything else.

Stiles cleaned his throat, playing with the pencil, “So, y-you said something about needing more bread? Do I put on the list or?”

That had been just one incident of many. Actually, one of his higher points of the week.

And because of all that subtlety, Scott also noticed. They were at the clinic, Deaton at the back attending some cat that decided eating cleaning products would be fun, and Scott at the front with Stiles. Deaton told him to hold a fucking sphere of water on the air until he came back and if the huge amount of drops wetting his jeans were any signal, he wasn't having the easiest time concentrating.

That was probably because his mind was made of 'how the fuck am I going to talk with Derek', 'I don't wanna fight again' and 'shit was he hotter yesterday or am I imagining stuff'. Just little teen stuff.

“Dude, are you okay?” asked Scott, putting his phone down.

“Of course I'm okay. I'm great,” the ball shook a little and Stiles moved it away from his legs, “Shit.”

“If it breaks, you are cleaning,” he warned, “But, for real, you've been elsewhere lately, even Lydia thinks you are off. Did something happened,” Scott lowered his voice, “at the mansion? Derek did something?”

“What? No- oh, fuck, please don't fall, please,” Stiles sighed in relief when the sphere stabilized, “And of course Derek didn't do anything. I told you, he is a nice guy. A bit of an asshole, okay, but like, asshole-ish like me. He is just this big, grumpy, sassy puppy. Dude, did I tell you he is also a huge nerd? Like, he sat down and explained a bunch of shit about physics like it was nothing! It's totally unfair, people can't be hot, nice and smart, that's super genetic cheating.”

There was a brief pause, brutally killed by Scott's sudden intake of breath:

“Holy shit, do you like him?”

Stiles was so glad he wasn't drinking anything at that moment or he would've spit all over himself, or choked. Not that what happened was any better: Water splashed everywhere, barely avoiding his shoes by a miracle. He stood still, eyes wide open, hands still on the position and mouth trying to formulate words without success.

“Oh my god, you do!” Scott beamed, “Does he know? Did you two hook up?”

Stiles' had to stop him there,“Wow, wow, let's calm down.” Hooked up? Ha, he wished. “Of course he doesn't know, as if I'm going to tell him about my stupid crush. Imagine how awkward it would be, dude. I don't even know how old he is.”

Scott frowned,“You said he looked like twenty.”

“Yeah, but, there is all the,” Stiles gestured to his own face. “Furry problem. I can't know for sure. And why are you all cheery and shit? You are always on me about how much you don't trust him.”

“Alright but _you_ like him and you also complain all the time that nobody in Beacon Hills is interesting and that you are going to die alone and virgin,” he listed, “So go for it, ask how old he is and make a move when things calm down!”

Only Scott could say something like that as if it was completely reasonable with a straight face. How neither Stiles' company or that fucked up town hadn't killed Scott's faith in the world was a mystery.

“That's on the list of things that are never going to happen,” Stiles said, “Along with me making friendship bracelets with Jackson and the internet becoming obsolete.”

“Why not? You already have the 'no', man, you don't have anything to lose.”

Stiles diverted his attention to the water puddle on the floor. The conversation was making him more uncomfortable than he expected, so he let magic flow to his fingertips, “For starters, my dignity,”

Most of the water started to heap together in a misshapen new blob. With a little effort, it floated until it sat on Stiles' palm once more, smaller and dirtier than before. Deaton would notice for sure, but Stiles thought he deserved kudos for trying.

“And a cool new friendship-ish,” he completed, “I just wished I could stop acting like an idiot around him. You should see me, I look like you with Allison before all the dating.”

“Hey!” Scott protested without heat, aiming his phone's camera on Stiles' direction, “Keep doing that, I'm gonna send her a snap.”

“Check it out,” he passed the blob from hand to hand, getting used to it “I'm Katara.” Scott laughed and typed something quickly, “So how are the Argents treating you, Romeo?”

“Don't think I'll let you get away that fast,” Stiles groaned, “But I'll drop it for now. I am here when you need advices on being lovesick.”

“I'm not lovesick!” He protested, wetting his fingers and throwing a bit of water on Scott's direction. His friend only laughed and dodged his mortal attack.

He let Scott's voice wash over him, he talked about Chris starting to like him but Allison's grandad still being a creep. It was relaxing, hearing him while focusing on maintaining the water stable on his hands. In the meantime, Stiles' mind wandered off, thinking about his next step with Derek, and his conclusion was that he was being a fucking coward.

No matter what happened in the next visit, Stiles prayed his life wouldn't change. He liked it that way, and enjoying his own life was good for a change.

  


* * *

 

  


He arrived at the mansion later than usual, Stiles had gotten distracted with two things: buying a food that could put Derek in a humor good enough for their conversation – he went with an apple pie –, and the fact he didn't want to go. Stiles was not eager to be the asshole who burned their peace down.

Yet with a firm grip on his precious Whole Foods' plastic bag, Stiles' kept going. The woods were dark already but luckily he had the path memorized. Even so, usually he was greeted by one of the wolves halfway and had some company. It was weird, having to walk alone again. At least he knew he was friends with the most dangerous creatures there.

However, it didn't feel much like a consolation when he arrived at the glade and saw the full moon rising on the sky. Stiles was on his way to piss off werewolves on a full moon. He hadn't noticed a freaking _full moon_ while walking for half an hour.

It was big, silver and right there staring at him as if it said, “Are you really this stupid?” And apparently he was.

Stiles tried to recall if Derek had ever said something about it, and when nothing came up he just prayed the Argents were wrong about that one too and crossed the barrier.

The brief security the magic brought him was gone when he noticed he was still alone. No wolf, no alpha appeared even if the mansion's lights were lit. That was his third big signal to back the fuck off and go home. But Stiles hadn't come so far to let his tiny survival instinct speak louder for once.

He never wished he had listened to it as much as when he finished climbing the porch's stairs.

The door busted open with a loud bang, hinges cracking audibly. He had no time to react, because one moment he was ready to jump away and the other he was being jumped on. The plastic bag flew from his hand and Stiles hit the floor on what would've resulted in an ugly concussion if it wasn't for his full backpack.

The scene was eerily familiar, a heavy, furry body atop of him and big paws pressing painfully on his chest. Except that time it wasn't Boyd, he wouldn't be that scared with Boyd. It was Peter with angry glowing eyes and an impressive set of teeth snapping way too close to his face.

Okay, so maybe full moon was not that chill. Stiles would need to remember that if he survived. Which, really, was all the could think about since there were barks from all around and slobber hitting his cheeks.

Suddenly, there were no more slobber or Peter. Something hit him in a blur and his weight was gone faster than Stiles' human eyes could process. No... no, it had been Cora. She pinned Peter against the – now in shambles – handrail looking ready to bite his throat off.

Stiles scrambled away from them and the door, just in case another wolf decided he was good prey material. Yep, definitely not a good night for a visit. Stiles was ready to apologize for interrupting puppy murder time and go home.

Then Derek appeared.

Curved, covered in blood and growling enough to shook bones. Erica, Isaac and Boyd were close behind, looking no more happy. Stiles' heart was beating so fast he thought he would die right there – which proved to be fake when things, as expected, got worse.

“Der-”

Peter, being way bigger than Cora, broke free, clawing everything on his way and almost hit Stiles. Instead, he jumped on Derek. None of the wolves were able to stop him as he opened a gnarly cut from his chest to his lower belly. It was fucking horrible, blood flew everywhere and Stiles was very aware he had screamed.

Derek barely blinked as he grabbed Peter's head and pinned him on the floor effortlessly. No matter the sickening crack that made, the wolf didn't stop thrashing around. That didn't made any difference for the alpha who lowered himself until they were face to face.

“If you ever do that again I'll forget we are pack,” he snarled, “Go take a walk and come back with a clear head, but don't you dare make anything stupid.”

Peter stopped squirming and Derek slowly released him. His head was hanging low but his eyes were still yellow slits as he trotted away without a protest. All the wolves observed, fur bristled as he disappeared in the dark woods.

Stiles tried to get up, supporting himself on the destroyed handrail since his legs were still not working very well. He forced his brain to function again, say something through the pumping adrenaline, but Stiles could only stare as the deep cut on Derek's chest closed before his eyes. Under all the blood, he was intact as if he hadn't been mauled to what would've killed any person. The perks of being a werewolf were a bit hard to process in those moments, so Stiles' only managed:

“Fuck, you are okay.”

Derek finally looked at him, eyes roaming up and down his body while he got up. Seeming satisfied he snapped, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Which... was not at all what Stiles had been expecting. Maybe an apology, or something more worried. Maybe a hug, well, they never hugged but still.

“I'm always here.”

Derek cupped his own head, looking incredulous as if he had finally realized something very obvious. In general, Stiles kind of wanted to ignore the last five minutes and go on with his life, but Derek was weird. The wolves were too, eyes glued on him in a way that nothing resembled their usual friendliness.

“Yes, you are,” Derek mumbled to himself.

“Dude, what the fuck just happened? Was that some full moon thing?”

“No- yes! Shit, if you knew it is full moon why did you even come?”

Now if _that_ didn't make Stiles feel like a complete idiot, “You... Didn't say anything about full moons.”

“I said,” he sounded uncertain but Stiles was having none of that.

“I'm pretty sure I would've remembered 'hey, let's not meet this week cuz my uncle may maim you'!”

Derek squeezed his eyes shut and cursed, for some reason it felt as if Stiles was missing a very important part of that conversation.

“How could I fucking forget that.”

“Hey, man, it's okay, shit happens,” he assured, “I'll come back tomorrow, alright? You should rest or something.”

“No,” Derek clenched his fists, “we need to talk.”

That had to be the worst phrase someone could ever, ever say. Stiles could already feel his anxiety crawl up his back and he told himself he was overreacting, as always. People sometimes need to review some stuff when they get in a kind of mortal situation.

“Okay,” he tried to breath slowly, “go on.”

Derek rubbed his eyes, spreading the blood on his face,“Stiles, you can't come back tomorrow.”

Well, it wasn't that ba-

“Or after. You can't come here again.”

Stiles blinked in confusion, sure he hadn't heard right, “I'm sorry, what?”

The alpha only stared at him, eyed red and heavy with something Stiles couldn't pinpoint. It was scary, not being able to read him for the first time in weeks.

“Why?” Stiles croaked.

“Peter is right, it's not working. Nothing changed in a month and it won't.”

The teen was tongue tied, he would be lying if he said he hadn't been dreading that moment for days. He desperately tried to come up with the arguments he had used with himself, “I know, but look we still have a lot to do. I wanted to talk with you about it but, you know, and- if it really doesn't work, there is still a lot to try. There are so many other plans we can think of or-”

“We?” Derek interrupted, “there is no we. There is me and the pack, and there is you, Stiles.”

Stiles now knew how being punched on the stomach felt like. Having all air knocked out of you and feeling like your world was turning upside down. Derek didn't wait for him to keep up though:

“All those weeks were a waste of time.”

“Don't say that,” it was nothing more than a murmur, but he knew it was loud enough for Derek. He gulped down and tried again, “I never promised it would work, but I want to help you.”

“I don't want your help!” Derek roared, “You _can't._ ”

Stiles took a step back, mouth agape. In a childish move he looked at the wolves for support, but all of them were still, staring and heaving. The worst part was that Derek was right, he couldn't even help them in full moon, how could he in anything else?

“I'm a monster and you are the last person who can help us. A fucking teenager.” Ouch. “We are not your fun extracurricular activity where you can play witch in the woods.”

“I know.”

“We are not your pastime in a boring town.”

“I know!” he snapped.,“That's not why I'm here and you know it, don't be a jerk.”

But Derek obviously didn't care about what Stiles had to say in his defense, “It doesn't matter!” “Looking back now... I don't even know why I listened you,” the bastard didn't even had the guts of looking Stiles in the eye when he sighed, “I must've been really desperate to put up with your bullshit for so long.”

Stiles' face was red, he knew it, it was half because he never felt so humiliated in his life, half because he was really fucking angry at being treated like a stubborn child. Being treated like everybody in Beacon Hills treated him. In the way he never thought Derek would, but it seemed he had really misjudged him.

He really should walk away, come back when Derek wasn't covered in blood and under the full moon. Yet, his mind was clouded by a new light shinning on every interaction they had in the past month. And if the alpha wouldn't take the high road on that discussion, neither would he.

“So what, were you just putting up with my bullshit when you were nice?” Stiles managed to say through clenched teeth, “Doing the hyperactive teen a favor when you helped him with homework and listened to his crap? Was that 'oh I don't deserve you' just putting up too?”

There was a long silence before the final answer. It was not too late, Derek could take a step back and stop being an ass. Stiles would be mad but he would forgive him after a while. He would. He was stupid enough to like Derek.

Derek finally managed to look at him, appearing to be resigned, angry and sad all at once. Which was just not fair. He didn't have the right to be sad when he was the one breaking the ground under Stiles' feet. He didn't have the right to be sad when he said:

“When we made our deal, your condition was that I had to be nice with you, remember?” Derek visibly flinched at that one, but not as hard as Stiles.

Fuck, it hurt more than he expected, his eyes started to burn. However, Stiles would rather die than show him he was feeling like shit, Derek didn't deserve it. He pushed up all the rage boiling inside him, and thankfully he was never short on that since it made a very good fuel.

Without hesitation, Stiles marched and punched Derek's nose the best he could with the height difference. The jackass at least made the nicety of turning his face, genuinely surprised.

“Shit!” Stiles' hand throbbed painfully and he was almost sure he might have fucked up a bone. But at least Derek's nose had turned in an unnatural angle, more blood dirtying his face. Alright, it would heal in a second but you have to take pleasure in the small things. “Fuck you, Derek! I can't fucking believe I even liked you, I- goddammit, you motherfucker.”

Stiles' spat on the ground because he was that petty and rushed away from that damn mansion.

“Stiles, wait,” Derek called, as if he had any right.

He quickened his pace and refused to look back, though a guilty pleasure bloomed when he felt Derek hit the barrier. It was so wrong, so fucking wrong but he couldn't find it in himself to care. Fuck Derek. Fuck Peter too. If the wolf decided to attack him in the woods he would go away with a burned face, Stiles' didn't feel like playing around.

Truthfully, the longer he walked the shittier he felt. Somehow Stiles' had just enough luck to not have a panic attack, but the hand squeezing his insides was there. The ball that made his throat tight was rising fast and before he could stop himself the first tears started to fall. They kept going, blurring his vision and making him stumble on a root just to make his day a little worse.

“Fuck!” he screamed and kicked the tree for good measure.

Then the first sob escaped because he apparently kicked the catharsis tree. It all came crashing down and so did Stiles, falling on the ground. His thoughts were scattered all around and he couldn't find it in himself to focus on anything.

“Fuck,” he was so damn tired too.

Jesus, he couldn't even go home with his dad there. Trying – and failing – to normalize his breath, Stiles grabbed his cellphone and tapped on contacts with shaky fingers.

“Scott? No- shut up and listen!” Stiles closed his eyes, “I'm sorry. Order a pizza I'm going there. Just... can you talk? About anything just talk to me, please.”

Scott did, later Stiles wouldn't even remember what about. It was white noise, soothing him enough to get up and slowly walk away from the Preserve and drive without doing something stupid. He just needed a bed and a shoulder to cry on... maybe he wouldn't feel so bad the next day.

Stiles was in such a state he also wouldn't remember the expensive car parked outside the woods away from his Jeep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really sorry


	13. Fuck Erica

“Did you fight with Scott?” asked his Dad the next afternoon.

Stiles stopped midway on the stairs. He was tired and looking like shit without a doubt. Not in the mood for an interrogation, but for laying in bed forever.

“No.”

“Are you sure? Because I can smell you sulking from miles.”

He didn't want to be rude with his dad, he really didn't. Stiles muttered a dismissal and was ready to keep going when was interrupted:

“Kiddo, come here.”

The Sheriff was on his feet, face stern as usual — thankfully not concerned in the way that made Stiles feel guilt eating his insides.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” Stiles lowered his eyes and nodded, “What happened?”

He considered spitting an empty lie and going to his room. His dad wouldn't stop him, just keep a closer eye for a couple of days. Yet Stiles found himself trying to be honest:

“I just- I had a fight with a friend, you don't know him. It was ugly. He was a jerk. That's it, I swear.”

“Was he the one you've been sneaking out to see?”

“Well,” Stiles spluttered, “Yes? Kind of?”

His dad frowned, “I'm not going to ask if you want me to go over his house, completely nonthreateningly, and ask some questions, maybe show my gun in a friendly way,” he squeezed his shoulder, “But I'm open to suggestions.”

Stiles gave a half smile at that, “I won't need it, thanks, dad.”

“If you are sure. Go rest a little, I'll try to make that chocolate cake you like.”

“Please don't, I don't feel like having food poisoning today.”

His dad slapped his arm but grinned, and Stiles went to his room feeling a little better. He woke up with a slice of slightly burned cake next to his bed and ate it without complaint. If it tasted like shit, he didn't notice.

Truth be told, Stiles' mood extended for until rest of the week. It was not just the discussion, he could get over that. Things were also different, boring again, too normal.

Stiles caught himself more than once wondering how he would tell Derek about his day. He saw Jackson tripping on the hallway and imagined Derek's smirk. Stiles learned a new trick at Deaton's and wanted to show it to the wolves. It sucked. He hated missing him. He absolutely hated feeling like a part of his day to day life was gone.

Maybe he had clung to the mansion in a way to get rid of Beacon Hills' boredom and that's why he had tried so hard. Maybe... Derek was right. He confessed that one to Scott one day:

“Who cares if he was right about this one thing? He was an asshole, dude, and you are not going back there like that. You are better than this, hear me?” he took Stiles' head on his hands, full of righteous fury.

“Yeah, you are right,” it sounded a little weird with his cheeks crushed like that, but Scott seemed to believed it.

It just didn't make him feel less like shit though.

A whole week passed and Stiles was finally over his 'eat-ice-cream-and-binge-watch-Netflix' stage. He was ready to do something useful like not mope all day, or study.

Probably not study, but didn't matter because his plans were blown to the wind. Life just couldn't be easy.

“Jesus Christ!” Scott's scream sent Stiles flying to where he stood next to the Jeep.

Right there crouched under the car was a huge mass of yellow fur – with an impressive set of fangs snarling at this friend. Stiles was getting sick of snarling.

“Erica?” he shrieked, “Hey, cut it out he is my friend!”

The wolf was not pleased but stopped nonetheless.

“I was just going in and there were those glowing eyes below the...” Scott gulped, “Is it one of the- you know?”

“Yeah,” Stiles looked around, it was already dark and the clinic was isolated from the city, but still, “What the hell are you doing here? What if someone sees you?”

Erica, of course, was a wolf and could not speak. So Stiles opened the back door and made a motion for her to get in, after a few tense seconds they were all in the Jeep – Scott practically ready to jump off on the first flash of teeth.

“Is your mom home?”

“You are not taking a werewolf to my house,” Scott protested.

“Dude, come on, please,” Stiles was already starting the car, he knew how the discussion would end, “You work with a vet! And I live with the damn Sheriff, if someone sees a weird dog with me and the Argents hear-”

“Alright, whatever! God, my mom is going to kill me.”

Erica was obviously not happy at being called a dog, but she was in no place to complain. They shoved her hurriedly into the house and closed the curtains just to be sure. Stiles hated how seeing Erica sitting on the couch like she owned the house made him feel happier than he had in days.

“You'll clean her fur later, asshole,” Scott muttered, stomping to sit as far as possible.

“Cross my heart, man, you are awesome. Anyway, do you have an ouija board or something?” Scott gave him a _look_ and Stiles shrugged, opening his backpack to pull a notebook and a pen, “Worth a try.”

He messily scribbled the alphabet and a corner with a 'yes' and 'no', tearing it off and putting in front of Erica.

“So, what the fuck are you doing here? You know, walking around on the only American city that still believes in werewolves?”

Erica's eyes moved from Stiles' face to Scott, giving the shitty paper made ouija board a last disgusted look before moving her pawn over the letters. She was clumsy, hesitating over the letters, no wonder. Stiles didn't comment and just noted down what she spelled:

'You told him'

“Well,” he sat straighter, “Yeah, of course I did. I get tangled with fucking werewolves that look very eager to get a taste of my ass and end up missing and almost dying a few times. It's a bit stressful. So, yeah, I think I told my best friend.”

Erica shot him a dubious look and Stiles felt a pang of irritation.

“He won't tell anyone, okay? I trust him with my life” Not the best time to confess how Scott was dating an Argent, Stiles would leave that under the mat for a little longer. Maybe forever.

“I won't tell anyone, I promise,” Scott finally spoke, sounding surer than he looked “Plus, you know where I live now so...”

In the end, Erica sighed and seemed to decide it was not worth her time. Her paw moved:

'How are you'

“Let's cut the small talk, okay?” Stiles frowned “You didn't risk your ass here to check on me,”

Something told him if Erica didn't need to write it letter by letter she would verbally smack him. Stiles was saved from that and she merely spelled:

'Derek wants to talk to you'

And at that Stiles burst out in a full body laugh. He was not even sure if it was a real laugh himself, but God if he wasn't feeling it.

“What did she say?” Scott asked, not daring to move from his spot.

“She wants,” he cleaned a fake tear off his eye for good measure, “me to go talk to Derek. Can you believe it?”

Scott wasn't amused though, “You are not going.”

“No I'm fucking not,” Stiles dropped his smile, “Sorry, dude, you wasted your time. I can drop you by the Preserve on my way home.”

Erica huffed looking at least pissed, she stretched and tapped the notebook where her phrase was written with visible insistence. For a second there, Stiles had been tempted to say if Derek wanted so much too see him he should come in person, but he was not feeling that petty. That could still change.

“Look, I'm sorry, Erica,” he didn't try to hide his anger, “No matter what that jerk said, I really want to help you out. But he made it crystal clear what the thinks about my fucking help in front of all of you that night so, yeah,” he snapped, a bitter taste on his mouth, “Also, tell Derek I am not his fucking puppy he can kick and will come back like an idiot, no offense. He could be on fire right now for all I care. ”

Stiles passed a hand through his hair, feeling slightly embarrassed at his outburst. The quiet stares from his friends deepened it. Whatever, he was not the wrong one there.

“I'm gonna order some pizza,” Stiles cleaned his throat and got up.

As the minutes passed, Scott became more comfortable with Erica and even decided that making brusk movements wouldn't end his life. Erica, on the other hand, never spared him a second glance. She stayed in her routine of tapping the notebook and looking annoyed at Stiles. And to show he really didn't give a single fuck, Stiles didn't try to make small talk or inquiry about the pack – and damn if that wasn't hard.

Hours later, he managed to drop a begrudgingly Erica on the outskirts of the Preserve.

Stiles thought to himself, yep, it's done. His last connection to the werewolves was severed, that had been his – kind of – closure. Keep on with your ordinary life.

Oh, boy, didn't the Universe just loved to prove Stiles wrong.

Erica appeared again, asking the same. And again. That happened three more times, always after work, hiding under his Jeep. So often that Scott didn't even flinch anymore when he touched Erica on accident or worried about letting her into his house.

Stiles answer was always the same though: No. Nope. Not happening.

Still, that was starting to get on his nerves and he really didn't wan to end up snapping at Erica again.

The fourth time, Stiles refused to drive to the Preserve so late and all three of them slept at Scott's. The morning fog was thin when Stiles unlocked the car door's and signalized for Erica to hop off. Of course, werewolves had to be difficult bastards so she didn't move.

“Hello? We are here, go on to your cute little den, there's other fur balls waiting for you,” he groaned “Come on, Erica, don't be an ass, I really wanna go home.”

The pair of yellow eyes just stared at him for a while, pondering. Then, too fast for Stiles do anything, Erica bit his backpack and pushed the door open, running away into the woods.

“Erica!” He yelped, “What the hell, man? Give it back.”

It was too late, she had already vanished into the Preserve and Stiles knew very well where she went. He cursed, tempted to just drive away however she had his everything on the bag, from school books to all his money. Not a lot, alright, but not the case.

The morning air was freezing just to fuck him a little more. Stiles deserved a break from that life.

“I'm serious Erica, bring it back,” he called already stepping on the dirt, “That's not funny!”

She didn't wait for him or left tracks, not like it was needed. Stiles still remembered the path perfectly and cursed himself for following it automatically. The knot on his stomach only grew when the mansion appeared on his line of vision. That alone made an unwelcome warmth spread on his chest.

Scott was going to kill him, and Stiles would let him.

His backpack was laying on the porch, nobody around. Stiles knew it was a fucking bait, yet he was ready to make a run for it. In and out as fast as possible. They would scent him later but there would be zero interactions.

In the end, Stiles decided to walk very fast, because in the worst case scenario and somebody appeared he didn't want to look like he was scared of being there. You gotta maintain some dignity.

He was about to step on the front stairs when a familiar bulk appeared on the front door. It was not swung open, there were no screams, no rabid wolf jumped on top of him yet the scene was so eerily familiar that Stiles felt his breath quicken.

Like a deer caught in headlights he froze. Took him a second to recognize but it was Derek – it was always Derek, he had begun to notice. Except... Not exactly.

Not like that night, not like Stiles had ever seen him. That mane of hair was gone, giving place to a short, kinda badly cut hairstyle. The beard too, leaving only stubble behind. In general, he looked cleaner, almost normal if it wasn't for the general werewolf characteristics. God, even his clothes were 'new', Stiles had never seen him wearing something that wasn't majorly fucked up before and it was doing things to him. Like, Derek was attractive before, but now...

Stiles was fucking weak. He was going to _ask_ for Scott to kill him after that one.

There was an awkward silence none of them tried to break and he wondered that was like some 'seeing-your-ex' situation. Stiles wasn't feeling charitable, so he scolded his dumb face, grabbed his bag and turned away to leave.

He was smugly proud at his super mature reaction when he heard:

“Stiles, wait,” the way that shook his insides was a big red flag.

Stiles gave in to his pettiness and kept walking.

“Please, Stiles.”

 _Oh well_ , fuck. Scratch that, he would ask Scott to bitch slap him several times before the murder. Stiles turned around to see that Derek had followed him, maintaining a safe distance and not pulling him back like usual.

“Can we talk?”

“Feeling like putting up my bullshit now?” Stiles almost smiled at Derek's wince.

“That. We need to talk about that.”

“We really don't. I brought your beta back, you are welcome, now I'm going home, bye.”

“ _Stiles_.”

“Holy shit, what do you want?” Stiles barked, his last thread of patience snapping after those last days, “You wanna talk? Fine. I'm pissed at you, okay? I'm really, really fucking angry and I don't wanna see your face. Which is perfect since you made it very clear you don't wanna see mine too. Win-win! But no, nooo, you gotta keep poking me and send Erica to make my life harder because you can't live with the fact that you fucked up. Or is that some weird guilt trip and you are feeling bad about being an asshole to a stupid teenager?”

Stiles was glad for his sulking, now there was nothing left on him except burning ire and dry pain. He even deserved kudos for keeping a mostly leveled voice and not trying to assault Derek again. Yet. The jerk was watching him, waiting for his turn to speak and when that happened it could change.

“I mean, seriously? You could've said anything, just sent me away with a 'your plan sucks fuck off' and I would've been okay. But did you really need to say those things to me? Did you?” He took a deep, shaky breath “What the fuck is your problem?”

Stiles absolutely hated Derek's miserable look. It should make him feel good, the asshole indeed was feeling guilty yay, yet just made Stiles feel as if _he_ had screwed up.

“I know,” Derek finally said, “I asked Erica to bring you here so I could sort this out. I'm sorry, Stiles. I was wrong, we can't do this without you, and even if we could what I did was shitty,” he added, “I didn't mean any of those things.”

Stiles fidgeted with his backpack strap, “Yeah but you said them.”

“I did,” Derek hesitated for a brief second, “I wanted to see you gone. After what Peter did, seeing you here on full moon... Locked here, we will end up going rogue, it's a matter of time, months, years. And I couldn't...” He sighed, “I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something happened to you. After everything you've been doing for us, even when I- You are stubborn, so I said what I knew would drive you away.”

Stiles could feel his throat tightening, most of his anger fading in such a rush that left him breathless, “You were worried so you decided to be a jackass?”

Derek huffed, the corner of his lips twitching, “Basically. It was stupid, I regret it the second it left my mouth.”

“It was pathetic” he bit his lower lip. If Derek really cared as much as he said, Stiles wanted to rub on his face how much he had hurt him, making him feel like shit too, but instead he asked “If that's true what took you so long?”

Derek shifted his weight, looking uncertain for the first time ever, “I thought it was better to leave you be, but Erica told me to stop being an idiot. And,” the red eyes bored into Stiles, “things are quiet here without you.”

“Is that your messed up way of saying you missed me?” he fought against his own smile.

“Maybe.”

Stiles hadn't noticed that Derek had been closing the distance between then, he had to bend his neck a little to look at the other properly. For moment he couldn't think. A part of him, very small, was still pissed and wanted to leave and let Derek squirm. The other was analyzing their distance and if he would need to tiptoe to kiss him.

Neither of them should be listened. Definitely not.

“I'm sorry,” Derek murmured. A heavy set of hands rested on Stiles' sides as the world slowed down.

“I'm... I'm still angry at you, but,” he licked his lips nervously and blushed when Derek's eyes sat on his mouth, “Yeah, alright. I missed you too, you idiot. You were right about one thing, Beacon Hills is fucking boring.”

Derek smirked at that but said nothing. Stiles also couldn't say anything because suddenly they were so close he could smell Derek and he wished to drown on that. His chests were touching, a warm breath hit his face and Stiles could feel his eyelids drop a little.

Holy fucking shit.

Before he could put two plus two, Derek's arms finished circling him and they were hugging.

That... was not what Stiles had imagined and yet his heart was about to explode. He had hugged Derek back without noticing, it felt bizarrely intimate. Warm. Derek was so damn warm. Stiles wished he could fall asleep there and pretend the last week was a bad dream.

“Will you come back or can I tell Erica to steal more of your things?” Derek asked against his ear, making the hair on his nape stand up.

“God, I'll come back, you sap. Just shut up,” Stiles used the height leverage to bury his face on his shoulder, trying to hide his embarrassment.

He decided to ignore the fact that Derek could, without a doubt, smell it or something. Better to not think about his obliviousness.

“So,” Stiles said after God knows how long, tearing himself away before he gave in temptation, “What's all... this?” he pointed.

He watched the tip of Derek's ears turned red- wait. Wait. It had been a while, alright, but he still remembered that-

“Hold on, turn your head a little... Oh my fucking God!” Stiles screamed.

There they were, red and perfectly round. No sing of the usual werewolf pointed tips.

“Dude, don't freak out, but your ears are normal!”

Derek startled and raised his hands to touch them.

A pair of very ordinary, clawless, hands.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for taking so long, hope you enjoyed <3


	14. Fuck families

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all, sorry for taking so long to reply to some comments AND thank you all for the amazing support!!! You make writing this fic even more fun and I hope you all enjoy it as much as me <3

“Stiles, did something happened between you and Joshua?”

Allison captured Stiles' attention with that. He raised his head from the History book he was pretending to read.

“Apart from him still being a major weirdo? No, why?”

Lydia also stopped studying to observe their conversation, manicured fingers laced under her chin.

“He is always asking about you now,” Allison frowned, “How are you doing, if you have been acting different, some personal stuff. Honestly, it's a little creepy.”

“A little?” Stiles could feel a shiver of disgust run his spine, “If I go missing again at least you'll know who is to blame. Sorry, man, but your cousin is just... ugh.”

Allison gives him a sorry smile, “I know. I'll tell him to stop, but if he does something you can tell me.”

“Since we are talking about Stiles already,” Lydia cut in,”Why don't you tell us about the mysterious person you've been seeing?”

“I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”

She maintains her steady look, rarely ever affected by Stiles' bullshit. Damn, Lydia is almost as good as his dad.

“First, you start going out and having magic classes, of all things,” Lydia counts, “Then you show up all sad and blue, like someone ran over your dog. Now, you come to school bouncing with happiness and is even _studying_. Kind of.”

“Maybe my metaphorical dog was okay after all,” Stiles avoided her eyes, “Welcome to the teenage life, Lydia, every week is a new hormone party _._ ”

“We know your moods, Stiles,” Allison interrupted, “They don't involve being quiet for so long.”

Where the fuck was Scott to save his ass when he needed? Stiles tapped his fingers on the desk, trying to find a way to escape the interrogation.

“How did you met them? Don't tell me you managed to find someone hot and bothered while lost in the woods,” Lydia crinkled her nose, “That's weird even for you.”

“Come on, we want to know how someone in _Beacon Hills,_ or, like you said, the still water of California, got Stiles Stilinski attention!”

Stiles almost considered telling them the truth right there, but closed his mouth, shrugging. The girls kept staring him down and he knew he wasn't going anywhere until spitting something out, “It's complicated, alright? Things between him and me are not like you think, at all. But I was going to maybe, perhaps, mention him when stuff became more stable? I'm not gonna say more.”

“Not even a picture? Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Is he hot at least? Do we know him?” Allison prodded.

Stiles passed a hand through his hair, face heating up, and mumbled, “You don't know him but, yeah, he is hot, geez.”

“Fine,” Lydia planted her hands on the table, “Keep your dirty little secret. But you are going to bring him to my end of the year party.”

Stiles caught himself truly promising it. The thought of Derek stumbling around in one of Lydia's famous parties carried him through the day and wiped out the notion of Joshua creeping on him. Derek, normal again and free. Well, if one could call 'werewolf' normal – Stiles could now.

The thing was that it was not such a far fetched concept anymore.

Stiles' plan had worked and it was only a matter of time before that mess was solved. The shadow of Derek's old self had been crawling back since the transformation started. He was happier, more open and there was a gleam on his eyes Stiles hadn't seen before. Maybe it was hope. Did things to his insides that Stiles would prefer to not pinpoint.

His life was back on the right tracks, and for a change he felt the future would be bright no matter what. It was a nice feeling.

That afternoon, Derek wasn't waiting for him was usual. Stiles paid no mind and entered the mansion, waving to the wolves. Peter was nowhere to be found, since the last full moon Stiles had barely seen him – and, honestly, he was glad.

He found Derek on the kitchen, startling a little at Stiles' entrance. In addition to the normal ears and nails, the sideburns had disappeared a few days ago, apparently giving birth to the new pair of eyebrows. If Stiles thought Derek had weirdly expressive eyes before, he was not dealing well with the infinite range of sass the eyebrows gave him.

“You okay, big guy?” he mused. Nice to not be the scared one for a change.

“Weird, I didn't hear you coming,” Derek sniffed the air, “Your smell is weaker too.”

“Maybe your nose is getting old. Or you are getting sick.”

“Werewolves don't get sick,” he scoffed.

“Yeah, but apparently they have allergies,” Stiles didn't try to hide his grin.

Derek shot him a glare before climbing the stairs, he turned around when noticed Stiles hadn't moved, “What's taking you so long? I want to show you something.”

Stiles hesitated for a split second, the second floor didn't hold a lot of good memories – the only one had been ruined by his almost death. He threw it to the wind and followed Derek, hoping that time he would come back down without any panic or pain.

Still, he remembered the floor well and it was deeply different, “We never cleaned in here- wait. Did _you_ do it? Alone?”

“Yes, while you were gone I decided to-” Derek looked away, “We can talk about it later. Come on.”

He pushed open his bedroom's door. At least the one Stiles assumed was his bedroom, since he was always in there and never let Stiles get too close or spy inside.

“Uh, are you sure?” he decided to ask, open invitation or not.

“Afraid of being alone with the big, bad wolf?” Derek flashed a toothy grin, the effect diminished by the long gone fangs.

Stiles suppressed the heat that blossomed on his stomach at the idea and stepped forward, “Please, you are just a grumpy puppy.”

The words had no real impact and Derek followed him in silence. It was not overly big like the rest of the mansion, not at all what Stiles had pictured. The room had been cleaned recently, but was still in a really bad shape. There were claw marks on the walls and furniture, the destroyed curtains were folded in a pile that made Stiles flinch.

Still, without them the sunlight hit all the right places. There were tons of trinkets everywhere making the place sparkle with warmth. The room exhaled intimacy in such way Stiles understood why Derek had been so protective. It felt invasive to be there.

“During the last years, I took things from the other bedrooms and put here. To remind me of them,” Derek initiated.

Stiles had done the same with some of his mom's things. He still had her books tucked safely under his bed, untouched.

“Thanks for bringing me here.”

“It's not all,” Derek trotted around the room, opening one of the drawers and taking a rectangle carefully. A picture, “I... want to show you this.”

Their shoulders touched as he pressed it into Stiles' hands. There was a huge family on it, too many faces to even begin counting, they all looked so happy, mansion on the background. Stiles wasn't sure if it was their faces or the display of pure trust Derek was giving him that squeezed his heart.

“Those are Erica, Boyd and Isaac,” Derek pointed to a gorgeous blond teen, a serious looking boy and another one with with dimples that reminded Stiles of Scott,“That one is Cora,” a younger teen with dark hair, looking annoyed to be there, someone had an arm around her shoulders. It was a woman who looked like her, but more mature and with a bright grin, “And my- my older sister, Laura. She was supposed to be the next alpha.”

Under Laura's other arm was a boy, younger than her but older than Cora. He had clear eyes, maybe green, and he seemed to be trying really hard to be grumpy at Laura, but had this cocky, little smirk. Like the rest of the family, he was undeniably handsome.

“Shit,” Stiles gasped, “Is that you?”

Derek looked flustered for a second, “The picture is kind of old, but... yeah.”

“Oh my god,” he laughed, “You were so...” hot, “dorky.”

The alpha gave his shoulder a light shove but kept going. He pointed then to a man who didn't possessed the family's traditional dark hair.

“This one is Peter,” Stiles hadn't expected someone so young, but the creepy air was not a surprise, “And that... that's my mom.”

The woman alongside him was on the center of the picture. Which made sense, all those people seemed to gravitate towards her, even from just a photo Stiles could see she was a power figure. She looked a lot like Laura, and had a soft smile on her face, one that said 'that's my family, I did it all'. Stiles wished he could've met her.

“Talia. She was our alpha too, an amazing one. The best.”

“She sure looks like it.”

Stiles was considering talking about his own mom, when a face caught his attention. There was a woman staying on the far side, obviously had been forced into the shot but not part of the family. Her face had a round shape, looking tired but with a smile on it, moles everywhere. Stiles would recognize that face anywhere.

“Derek,” he gasped, “Derek, holy shit, that's my mom. What's my mom doing there?”

Derek followed his gaze, confused, “Her? You mean Claudia?”

“Yes! You knew my mom? Scratch that, my mom knew about _you_? I don't- What the fuck?”

Stiles felt as if his brain was about to short circuit. He tried to remember any occasion were his mom introduced him to a pretty, dark haired family. He was sure he would've remembered meeting Derek.

There was nothing.

“Stiles,” Derek called, eyes meeting his to get his attention “Claudia worked with my family for a long time. She was the one to put the barriers around the mansion, one of the only humans who knew about us.”

He tried to connect the dots. Stiles had been young, but he knew even after they moved out of Beacon Hills his mom had constant business trips. Had she been sneaking out to the mansion all that time? Did his dad knew? Fuck, did his dad knew anything at all? First the magic block and now this.

There was way too much of his own life he didn't know.

Stiles recalled their constant walks through the woods when he was a kid. She talking about it being a special place, about magic and responsibility. He wondered if she had been preparing him. If she would've told him later if it was not for-

“At least that explains why you managed to get in here,” Derek broke his thoughts, “Are you okay?”

“Yes, just-” Stiles breathed in, feeling himself get calmer “Trying to process the fact my mom had a badass double life as a werewolf guardian and I had no idea.”

A warm hand rested on his back, rubbing soothing circles, “I'm sorry, I knew she had a kid but I never thought, I mean, this is insane. If you want we can-”

“No. I'm alright, really,” Stiles insisted, “But did all of this happened because my mom died, then? Is that why you are all trapped in here? Did her- death trigged something or...”

“When your mom got sick,” Derek cut him in with a steady voice, Stiles used it to ground himself “The barrier became weaker and she made plans with my mom. Claudia passed away before they could finish anything though, but the barrier should hold on for a couple more years. It did.”

Stiles imagined hearing about his mom's death should shake his insides again. But it didn't. It was weird and disconcerting, but he just wanted to know. Suddenly the mansion was about more than helping the wolves or fighting boredom. He needed to finish what his mom started.

“As the years passed, things got tense around here. We had no plan, no safe place and it was only a matter of time before the barrier ceded and the Argents figured it out,” Derek had a vacant look on his face Stiles knew from personal experience, he interlaced his fingers with Derek's “My family became divided. My mom wanted to reveal the truth to the world, stop hiding. The others wanted to contact the other wizard and build another barrier.”

Stiles could understand Talia's point. For years the werewolf's decimation had started to be seen for what it truly was: genocide. It would be hard, but there would be more support and curiosity than Argent-like reactions.

Would've.

“In the end, mom managed to convince most of the family and was going to meet Christ Argent. Mom was sure he would be in our side,” Derek paused, “But it was for nothing, I hadn't made my mind when they tried to break the spell and... the power of it was too strong for them alone, they couldn't absorb it and- it killed them- all of them.”

Stiles stared at the picture and felt sick imagining the destiny of all those happy adults and smiling children. They were so many.

“Peter, Cora, Erica... all the others... we weren't home when it happened,” his fingers clenched around the photo, crumpling it “I was the third in command, if I hadn't stayed on the fence, if I had come and helped they wouldn't- It would've worked,” Derek's voice broke, “All of this would've never happened if I hadn't been such a-”

Stiles gently took the picture from him and laid it on the bed, “Stop that,” he commanded, grabbing Derek's face, “It was in no way your fault. So you stop this martyr crap. If it was your fault then it was also my mom's for dying and letting you all down,” saying that made him mad with himself for a second.

“That's ridiculous.”

“Exactly, so you know how you are sounding right now,” Stiles softened his voice, “I know more than anyone it sucks to hear it, but I'm sorry. I really am. But our plan is working. You are going to get your pack through this and be a kick ass alpha, no matter what you choose to do. You are going to make them all proud, Derek.”

Derek's face went slack and he touched his forehead with Stiles'. His mouth went dry but he didn't move. It was supposed to be an intimate moment, yet Stiles could feel both of their families on their shoulders, cramping the room, turning the air into lead. That was going to be over soon, Stiles knew.

“It's annoying” Derek commented, opening his eyes, “Not being able to smell you right now. Something is wrong.”

“I gotta admit, I have no idea what do to about that one, sourwolf,” Stiles ignored the implication that Derek liked to smell him.

He was actually kinda glad about the bug on Derek's heightened senses, like that he probably couldn't hear Stiles' crazy heartbeat as they separated.

“So,” he cleaned his throat, “You said there was another wizard or something? Why didn't you guys contact they when shit went down?”

Derek answered, “I've never seen him before, only mom and Laura had. Also, Peter said he is reclusive so it was not exactly easy to track him down.”

“Do you want me to look him up, just to make sure we are not making a huge shit storm? Also check about your werewolf flu?”

Derek frowned at him – damn new eyebrows – but considered, “My mother trusted him... Maybe it's worth a try. His name was Alan, I think.”

Stiles sat down on the bed, resting his head on hands. How the fuck the most boring city in the world had the most absurd double lives? He was about to explode on maniacal laughter, because that was just too fucking much.

“Please don't say it's Alan Deaton.”

“Actually, yeah, that's it. Stiles, is there something you want to tell me?”

“Yeah, Derek, so, remember those magic classes?”

 


	15. Fuck the pond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta be honest, I lost track of time cuz I had this chapter ready for at least a month

Deaton was sitting with his normal blank face, mostly unaffected at Stiles' story. Scott was also there, not even pretending to be working while he listened.

“Well,” Deaton finally spoke, face severe “It's good to know what happened with the Hale family. Tragic, but better than their disappearance. I had already lost all hope of finding them again until you showed up. The marks on your shoulder are unique.”

“I freaking told you he knew it all,” Stiles said to Scott.

“I'm actually surprised at your attitude, Stiles,” he continued as if nothing had been said, “Considering everything, you acted right and I can't think of a better way or freeing them. Congratulations, I knew you had talent for magic just like your mother.”

Stiles' face flushed at the compliment. He never thought he would live to see Deaton saying those things to him.

“So... I just keep going to the plan? Nothing I should change?”

“Yes, that would be for the better. I would appreciate if you gave me updates about Derek's state,” Deaton suddenly frowned, tapping his chin, “Although, I ask you to be careful and keep an eye out for anything unusual. The conditions that tainted the spell, as Derek said, don’t make a lot of sense. I think there is something more to it.”

“You think he is hiding something?” Stiles asked defensively.

“I think he doesn't know it either. Also, the tree is called a Nemeton. You were right, it's a parasite, it's born on a site of death,” Stiles stomach churned at the implication, “When the side effects are gone, you'll need to destroy it to end the spell for once. Until then, try to keep your distance, Stiles.”

“Are you sure you can't go there? Maybe do something from the outside and just make my life easier in general?” He pleaded for the fourth time that day.

Deaton shook his head, “It can only be solved from the inside, I'm sorry. You will manage it, Stiles. You did well before and now I'm at your side.”

Stiles nodded, still unsure, “Yeah, okay. Something else? What about Derek, er, werewolf problems?”

“Probably not to worry about. My theory is that he will become fully human before stabilizing. Sort of walking from one extreme to another. He is the alpha after all, the Nemeton is taking most of it's power from him and his body is trying to fix it.”

“So he'll be fine, right? Not going to get sick or anything?” Stiles ignored the look Scott shot him.

“Yes, Stiles, he will,” Deaton assured, “And whatever is that you've been doing so well the past week, I suggest you hurry it up. He must have noticed it, but the more time the pack's spends turned, the more they lose contact with their human side. Each full moon will be harder to control,” Stiles recalled Derek's words about turning feral, “Maybe try to figure it all out before the next one, then.”

“Alright,” he gulped down, “No pressure.”

“It's almost done, dude,” Scott squeezed his shoulder, “Everything will be fine.”

“Scott is right. However, Scott is also being paid by the hour,” Deaton gave him a half smile and he sheepishly removed himself, returning to sweep the floor, “Has Derek told you what he plans to do once the spell is lifted?”

Stiles thought for a moment, “No. We haven't really... talked about it.”

“Maybe you should. Tell him that whatever happens, I offer my full support.”

Scott threw the dirt and dog's fur into a sack and went to the front.

“Right. Okay, I will. Thank you for everything, Deaton.”

Deaton seemed about to say something, but there was a ruckus from outside. He opened the door and Stiles felt his eyes widen at the sight of Joshua and Gerard Argent on the back of the counter, Scott discussing with them with a pale face. How long had they been standing there?

Shit. Stiles felt a sudden rush of cold. Were they listening to their talk?

“Hello, Alan,” the old man greeted in that voice that should be used to dub every creepy van-owning criminal in media. Each time Stiles saw him, he understood where Joshua had inherited his personality.

“Gerard, I'm sure you are aware but costumers are not allowed on his side of the clinic. Please, step back and don't bother Mr. McCall.”

Allison's grandpa smiled and did what he was told, Joshua did too and Stiles noticed their eyes were fixed on _him_.

“Of course. Me and Scott were only talking, isn't that right?” Scott nodded faintly with his 'whatever you say just leave' expression, “What a surprise, hello, Stiles. Are you working here too, now?” Nothing in his tone sounded surprised.

“Mr. Stilinski is my apprentice, actually. And a promising one at that.”

Stiles puffed his chest slightly at the praise.

“Life's been hard with you too, Alan?” Gerard prodded and Stiles was about to step up and show him exactly how hard he could make _his_ fucking life. Deaton's arm moved a bit to the left, just enough movement for Stiles to know he shouldn't try anything.

Fine.

“Was there something you wanted?” He asked with his usual politeness, “I'm sorry for keeping you waiting, I was just passing Stiles' homework for the day. Also, Scott, could you please finish cleaning the back?”

Stiles and Scott exchanged a look, Deaton was saving their asses. Scott touched Stiles' arm in assurance and left for the impeccable back room.

“Bye, Deaton, and thanks again,” Stiles squeezed his way past the counter, definitely ignoring Joshua's steady gaze on him and how the cramped space almost made them touch each other.

It was still early, he hadn't had any class with Deaton before they were interrupted. Well, good thing he knew exactly where to go to evade the Argents. He texted Scott quickly telling he would be back later to give him a ride and hopped into his Jeep.

The day was abnormally hot for the time of the year, but that's just how California works. He decided to hide his car extra carefully and walked faster than normal to the mansion, Stiles could never be paranoid enough with Gerard or Joshua.

On his way he got lost on his thoughts, specially on what Deaton had said. He and Derek never talked about life after the spell. Stiles had to wonder if the pack would leave everything behind and start over somewhere, it was easier now that they were so few. Just like that, part ways with a hand shake and pretend that nightmare never happened.

Stiles though, Stiles clung to the childish hope the bond he and Derek formed would stay. That their friendship wouldn't break like that and he would be left behind.

It did nothing to ease his worry over it.

Derek was not waiting for him that time again, but Isaac was. He may be more reclusive than Erica, yet he headbutted Stiles hand gently and followed him into the house.

“Derek, I'm here,” he announced, dumping his things on the floor.

“Alright,” the guy answered from some other room.

“Why are you hiding?” Stiles smiled, following the sound of his voice.

Isaac snorted and lead the way through the corridors.

“I'm not. It's just a little hard to...” A thump, “Shit.”

“Dude, what are you _doing_?”

Stiles turned to the right and found the room Derek was. And, well, that was unexpected.

Derek clung to one of the tables as if he was DiCaprio on the end of Titanic. From the bottom of his pants, there were two very human feet planted firmly to the floor.

“Sweet baby Jesus, that was a big one,” Stiles whistled. Coming closer he noticed Derek lost his huge height difference like that, they were mostly the same now and it was a little weird at first. He was bulkier still, but being leveled to those red eyes was new.

“I know,” Derek grumbled, his legs were shaking like a baby deer.

Stiles decided he would enjoy that one. He crossed his arms and stepped back.

“You totally can't walk, can you?”

“I can walk,” he glared, “It's just different. Shut up.”

“Alright. Come on, let's grab something to eat them.”

Isaac observed from the corner along with Erica as Stiles walked to the corridor once more. Derek stopped for a second, obviously considering the merits of killing the teen right there.

“Come on, Derek,” he dragged the words, “I'm hungry.”

Derek growled low on his throat and tentatively moved a leg. It trembled and waved, but hold. Stiles just watched as he took it as a small victory and tried the other one. Derek buckled a little and tightened his grip on the furniture. If he still had claws it would've made a solid mark.

“Do you want me to open my arms so you can stumble into them like a happy toddler?” Stiles did so, cooing, “That's it, Der-bear. One leg after the other, you can do it.”

If that was a month ago, Stiles would be shitting himself at the looks Derek was giving him.

“Shut the fuck up, Stiles,” he took another hesitant step.

“You know how to make me stop.”

Derek refused to listen and kept going. Jesus, it was painful to watch. Must have took the guy at least ten minutes to finish his fifth step, and that's when he realized he had ran out of furniture. Stiles observed as he analyzed the distance between it and the door frame.

“So...?”

Stiles also observed as Derek noticed he wouldn't be able to reach it without face planting the floor. Either way, Stiles would get out with a shit eating grin and black mail material. Karma was a bitch.

“Fine,” Derek gritted his teeth, “I can't fucking walk.”

“And?”

Oh, if looks could kill.

“And I need your help.”

“What's the magic word?”

“Don't abuse your luck.”

“Fair enough.”

Stiles helped him after that. Derek was heavy as fuck, and it was not as much of a funny situation as he thought. After a while they found a rhythm though, and went to the backyard to walk around. Honestly, they looked like an elderly couple doing laps together. It was so ridiculous Stiles had to laugh at that. While they did it, he told Derek about his conversation with Deaton, not mentioning the Argents or Deaton's suspicion in a selfish impulse to not disturb the peace.

Derek relearned fast though, and soon Stiles had released him and sat at the edge of the pond, dipping his feet on cold water. The heat caught up so much he took his hoodie off and used it as a pillow while he watched Derek flex his legs and walk a little around.

He was so entranced when he sat up again he didn't heard the footsteps approaching quickly. Before he could now what hit him, Stiles had been thrown into the pond with a loud splash.

“What the fuck?” he screamed, surfacing again in time to see Erica running away, “Fuck you too!”

Derek was coming closer, a grin splitting his face in two, “You alright?”

“No, of course I'm not alright, I'm soaked! I don't care if it's hot, this water is fucking cold, Derek. Pretty sure my balls are seeking political asylum inside my body right now.”

“Stop whining,” Derek extended his hand, “Here. Just so you'll shut up.”

Stiles grabbed it and pulled with all his strength. Derek had no time to curse before his still weak leg's wobbled and he fell face first into the pond. Stiles could feel tears on the corners of eyes from laughing, god dammit he never wished he had a camera so much on his life.

“Stiles,” Derek groaned, hair completely flattened, “I'm going to kill you.”

“You look so dumb, holy shit! Erica, come back here, you gotta see this!”

Stiles tried to make his way to the margin, but his clothes were heavy and Derek grabbed him before he could get another step. He yelped as he was raised into the air then slammed down into the water again.

“You jackass,” he coughed, “Werewolf strength is not fair.”

“I didn't use it.”

Oh. Well, damn. He should not be surprised that Derek could dead lift him, but his dick picked with interest even in the chill temperature. Stiles tried to distract himself by splashing water on Derek's stupid attractive face, because apparently he was eight years old again.

Derek was no better.

They started a brief but fierce water fight that ended with two dripping wet losers. Derek raised himself to sit by the edge and Stiles was about to do the same when the prick had the audacity to take his shirt off.

Had been a while since Stiles saw Derek's torso, but the sight never ceased to be humbling. The rippling set of abs stared at him and Stiles wanted to die and be buried in that happy trail. The world must've heard him, and his hand slipped and he hit his face on the dirt.

Now he really wanted to die.

Derek let out a low laugh above him, “Honestly, I'm surprised you are still alive,” Before Stiles could try to fake his dignity he was being hauled into a sitting position.

He wished Derek would stop manhandling him if he had no intention of pressing him against the nearest wall and fucking his brains out. Stiles also wished there was a polite way of asking that.

They sat for a while soaking in the sunlight – Stiles trying his hardest to not look at Derek at all, he didn't trust his eyes or his dick. There was a light breeze that made his wet clothes feel extra cold and soon he was trying to mask his shivers.

“Take your clothes off.”

“Ex-fucking-cuse me?” Stiles wiped his head around.

Derek had this weird, focused look on his face, “You are going to get sick like that. Take it off, it'll dry faster.”

“Uh, ah...” Stiles opened and closed his mouth like a fish, “Right.”

He knew shame was turning his face red while he struggled to get rid of his own shirt, feeling suddenly self conscious about his lack of impressive muscles. It was not fair, he had a normal body, Derek was the one with supernatural aesthetic.

Stiles decided he did not want to know if he was being stared at or not, doing such a messy job removing his wet jeans he almost fell again. Amazing.

“Happy now?” he murmured, bending his knees to his chest. He forced himself to look in Derek's direction and was struck breathless.

Derek raked his eyes up and down his body, “Yeah, I am.”

He could hear all the alarms going on inside his head. Stiles had no fucking clue of what to say to that. Was Derek flirting with him? Was Derek just being Derek? Stiles didn't know and he had no intention of leaping in the unknown to find out.

“This wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for your stupid beta,” he spluttered, trying to change the atmosphere.

“Erica is always doing stuff like that.”

“Yeah.”

The silence that fell then wasn't uncomfortable, but Stiles was still buzzing. He desperately thought of topics to diverge himself from his own awkwardness:

“So,” he started, staring at his toes curling on the grass, “What are your plans for after? When it's all done, I mean.”

Derek didn't answer at first and Stiles wondered if he was being ignored, but looking around the man was still staring at him. On that sunlight, his eyes seemed to shine less.

“I don't really know.”

Stiles huffed nervously, “What have you thought about, maybe I can help you?”

“Many things, but Deaton changes some plans. Before this started, me and Laura had thought about moving to New York for a while.”

“Oh,” Stiles brushed away he dull pain on his chest, trying to plaster he most neutral face, “New York is cool.”

“Yeah, but that was a long time ago. I have to consider other stuff too, important things.”

Just so they wouldn't fall in another silence, Stiles asked, “Like what?”

“Like you.”

Derek's eyes were about to pierce a whole through his soul, Stiles knew it. When it was done, he would fall through it and would be his end. He could barely breath as it was and only managed a weak, “Oh.”

Ceding to nervous habits, Stiles bit his lower lip and was struck when Derek followed the movement. He had no idea what to think. He had no idea what was happening or where it would take him, but it was new territory and he couldn't stop.

“What do you mean?” Stiles murmured.

“You know what I mean,” Derek inched closer.

“Not really. I think you'll need to show me.”

“Stiles,” he warned, his breath mangled with Stiles'.

He could feel the heat emanating from Derek's body, the place where his nose would rub against Stiles' if he got any closer. His lips were tingling in anticipation.

A hand settled on his neck. He could almost feel it-

A bark made Stiles jump back, heart hammering on his chest, probably trying to dig a way out. The hand slowly removed itself and he saw Peter standing on the backdoor. He had a very displeased look pinning Stiles down. How cool.

“Really, Peter?” Derek growled.

Peter snarled back. What a nice guy.

“I don't speak furry but I think he wants to talk to you,” Stiles said, trying to hide his flustered face.

Derek seemed torn and incredibly displeased for a second, he sighed and got up, “I'll be right back, gonna bring you some clothes too,” Peter disappeared inside the house, “Hey, don't get worked up, he is not fond of humans. Also he is an asshole too.”

Stiles snorted, still not looking at him, “You two _are_ related after all.”

He could hear the smile on Derek's voice when he said, “We will finish this later.”

Shit fuck. Stiles hid his face on his knees and curled on himself after the man was gone. What the hell just happened?

 


End file.
